


The Best of You

by araydre, Menatiera



Series: Just Give Me A Reason [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: A Lot of Issues, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Avengers AU, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky and Tony are together since IM1, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Estabilished winteriron, Eventual Happy Ending, Everybody Lives, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Pining, Polyamory, Protective Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers Defense Squad, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Defense Squad, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, WinterIronShield Bang, WinterIronShield Bang 2018, a different kind of redemption, and a kinder universe, background F/F (mentioned), basically rewriting the MCU, because these boys have issues, because why not, everyone gets hugs eventually I swear, except the bad guys they deserve to die, implied/referenced PTSD, let me know if i portray anything incorrectly, mentioned past abuse and torture, standard warnings apply for tortured people, stuckony - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-03-19 11:00:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 87,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13703103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/araydre/pseuds/araydre, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menatiera/pseuds/Menatiera
Summary: Tony (genius, billionaire, superhero) and James (former WWII hero, former Winter Soldier, former Bucky Barnes) are figuring out their relationship. No, really, they're doing great, after all the landmines are behind them. If they survived kidnappings, SHIELD at their backyard, revelations of past and all that jazz, what could possibly stand between them?Enter Steve Rogers, AKA Captain America. And things, of course, go sideways immediately.Tony is not entirely ready to face Daddy's Dearest, his childhood crush. James is not at all ready to have hisblond boy from the memoriesback.They don't have a choice.And on top of this, Steve, freshly defrosted and doing his best to adjust to the new century with both loves of his life gone, has his own problems. Including but not limited to an intelligence organization full of overexcited people, an alien army coming from the sky through some magic-bullshit-science portal and a genius chaperoning him around - whom he might be falling for.





	1. Steve Rogers

**Author's Note:**

> So, here I am! This is a sequel of Still Alive, but rest assured, it can be read as a standalone. All you have to do to understand it is that Tony and Bucky (called James) are together, have been since the events of Iron Man 1, but only the trusted few know about James's existence at all. Which slightly complicates their lives sometimes. This is an MCU rewriting, because who needs canon when we have endless possibilities. Endgame Stuckony.
> 
> P.s.: I know I still owe you the events of IM2. I have the plot planned out and I'm going to write it at some point, but, well, who needs timeline consistency in their writing, have this fic instead of that.
> 
> My amazing cheerleader and beta is [@sapphirae_escapist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphirae_escapist/pseuds/sapphirae_escapist), also known as [@cpt-winniethepooh](http://cpt-winniethepooh.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. I practically owe my soul to her by now, she's the most amazing friend I could ask for. The mistakes are mine, though, because I'm terrible and I keep changing things after she's done with her part.
> 
> The wonderful, amazing artworks belong to [@araydre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/araydre/pseuds/araydre) (check out [her tumblr](http://araydre.tumblr.com/) too!), who is just the most fantastic partner to work with and who has the patience of a saint toward my last minute madness.
> 
> The title is the same as the Foo Fighters's song, which you can [listen here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ENwIVw2h3SQ) Yeah, I'm fond of giving song's titles to my fics in this verse, I'll keep doing it. ^^

Waking up has never been a peaceful experience for Steve. It was always either painful, or startling, or violent - so when he opens his eyes slowly and music is pouring around him gently, the air is just the perfect temperature for comfortably napping a bit more and no other breathing sounds nearby, he immediately knows something - or everything - is _off_ . He just needs a few more seconds to figure out and pinpoint _what,_ exactly.

He’s in no pain, he registers immediately, though he has some lingering… soreness, the memory of a past ache maybe, of pins and needles of inappropriate blood flow. Weird. He blinks twice, staring up at the ceiling, assessing his environment. The air smells wrong - unfamiliar. It’s just… just not right, it has gasoline and ozone and disinfectant in it that mixes with the traces of pine and ocean and scent of other humans nearby. Even the taste of it is wrong, too.

Steve forces his muscles to stay lax as he tries to process more information, turning only his head. The room is. Cozy. But it has reinforced walls, he can tell. They don’t look like reinforced walls, but there are no sounds from outside, and the music bounces back from them with a little echo. Steve recognizes a fortified container if he’s in one. How long has he been here? His body feels restless, and he itches for movement so bad that he sits up, damn strategic observations first.

The bed he has been laid down on is nice too. It feels too soft, and one touch of bare skin of his fingers on the sheets tells it’s an expensive one, nothing like he’s ever slept on before. Not Army regulation for sure.

There are small cameras in each corner of the room, near the ceiling, lenses aimed at the bed. At _him_. Steve tenses up despite his effort to stay calm and he feels his breaths hitching.

Everything’s off. Everything’s wrong. Even the warm yellowish shade of the lightbulbs is unfamiliar, and since the serum Steve’s been almost obsessed with tones and palettes, he knows it shouldn’t be like this.

He should be dead. He crashed a damn plane into the icy ocean. No human could survive such a fall. Is he human at all? After how much he’s been changed? Or is this some kind of twisted waiting room for the afterlife? Well. That sounds more bureaucratic than Steve likes to think, so. Better not that be the case or he’ll be highly disappointed in the system, whether it be heavenly or hellish. Though. Considering his sins - including suicide -, he’d bet on hellish, and why would the afterlife even care about his opinion in the first place? At least Bucky should’ve been waiting for him or something. That jerk probably enjoys a good drink, dancing with beautiful angel dames somewhere warm where there is no mud anymore. At least Steve hopes. He wishes to join him. That should’ve been the whole _point_ of dying.

‘ _Who knew dying is this stressful,_ ’ Steve thinks to himself (not daring to mutter in case the walls have ears and not just eyes), still scanning the room. It barely has any furniture: beside the bed and the bedside table, there is only a small chest of drawers (with fresh flowers on it, Steve notices with belated amusement), a coat hanger (what the hell) and a flat black rectangle on the wall whose purpose Steve can’t identify. The quiet music comes from the speakers located on both sides of the rectangle.

And where are his clothes. Who undressed and dressed him? Have they even styled his hair? How weird.

Steve tries his best to keep himself under control, but he starts to fail. His head is swimming, his thoughts spiraling out, jumping from one question to another at an increasing speed.

He wants his shield back. Who has him? Are they hostile? The music is nice, at least: suspicious, but nice. But why and how long and how has this even happened.

He needs answers. When he stands up, his knees are weak, but he’s able to walk to the door and try it. Of course, it’s locked. The room has no windows.

He needs answers. Do his captors know the extent of his capabilities? Highly unlikely, given that he still surprises even himself from time to time when they point out his impossible stunts. Like surviving crashing a plane into the fucking ocean. ‘ _Well done, Rogers, you can’t even die when you should.’_

His hands are balled into fists already. He punches the wall and he’s momentarily satisfied with the dent the strike leaves. The vibrations that run through his arm probably mean he’d need several more hits to actually break through, but it’s not impossible, and he pulls his arm back to punch again.

The door opens up and a man walks inside. He moves with a confidence that makes Steve retreat two steps at first - just in case he needs the space to defend himself - before he plants his heels firmly on the floor.

Steve was never a man to shy away from a fight, neither one to wait idly for the events to happen to him. He was always the one to rush them, to hurry toward them, and he does so now as well. He lifts his chin up and stares down at the man with his best disappointed expression, the one he perfected in his dancing monkey days in front of a mirror with the assistance of USO girls. (And if you know perfectionists, USO girls were the epitome of that, so Steve knew his face was _very_ expressive.)

The man seems bothered, of course. He’s familiar in an odd way and Steve adds that to the growing list of weird things.

“Oh my god, what did I do? I didn’t kick puppies on my way here, you know,” the man says.

Steve does his best to ignore the urge to simply punch him in the face and ask what the hell is he talking about. “Where am I and who are you?” he asks instead.

“Right on point, great. Stand down, Capsicle, you’re safe and sound,” the man waves his hand and sits down on the bed, seemingly ignoring Steve’s frowns. “To answer your questions, I’m Tony, and you’re in SSR HQ in New York.”

Tony studies his face. Steve doesn’t know what his face is doing anymore, but he’s sure his knees shouldn’t be this wobbly, and his body shouldn’t feel this restless, in constant need of moving. It’s like all of his muscles itch. In any normal situation, he’s the one who only tenses up more with stress, he’s the one to stay still and be immovable until he decides to take action, but not now. His body simply needs moving far too much. He starts pacing the room from wall to wall. It’s not big - four large steps do the trick. He knew he should be relieved by the new information, but he really is not.

“Really?” he can’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “Why am I in New York? I should be in the front. Where are my men?” If they did anything to the Howlers he’ll tear this place to the ground. He’s already lost Bucky, he won’t lose any other member of his team. He refuses. So many great men die on the battlefields, but not _his men_ . Not one more of them. It’s his turn. He thought it already _was_ his turn, but…

“Funny thing is, the war is won. And by that I mean _you_ won the war, Cap, single-handedly, more or less. So there’s no front anymore. Your men got some medals and went home, basically.” Tony sits back, then groans. “Jesus, this’d kill my back. So uncomfortable. No wonder you’re this grumpy.”

“I’m not grumpy,” he protests before he could stop himself, his hands are balled into fists again, and he scowls at the victorious smile Tony gives him. “If it’s SSR then why am I locked here?”

“Well, few things changed since you were out. First, the name is SHIELD by now. Please, don’t ask what it stands for, I literally forget it every time, no matter how much Coulson keeps repeating. It’s stupid, but Peggy insisted.”

Steve’s heart speeds up with hope and happiness at the mention of the name, and he feels his eyes lit up. “Peggy? Is she here?” The thought immediately makes him a bit more at ease. At least Peggy is someone he knows, someone he can trust, even if everything else seems off.

“Not at the moment, but she’ll be out of her mind when she sees you walking around,” Tony smiles, more warmth in the gesture this time, so much so that it even stops Steve’s pacing. He’s still restless, of course, but his ability to stay still until the other shoe drops is back. This man in front of him is not hostile for the moment, he appears to be relaxed (even though Steve has the distant feeling that he’s not, not really) and he’s almost… kind. (Except that Capsicle comment that Steve didn’t really get.)

“I wanna see her.”

“Not possible, she’s not in the state at the moment.”

Steve frowns again. He thinks Peggy would’ve come back for his waking up. This again goes to the list of weird things, and with that, the list becomes too long to be ignored anymore.

“What are you not telling me?”

“Just a million and one things, don’t fret over it,” Tony shrugs nonchalantly.

Steve takes a step forward, then halts abruptly as he remembers he's not that skinny kid anymore, and towering over Tony might be a bit too much. The man didn't do anything against him yet. “I’m not kidding around,” he growls, and he knows his mere size by itself is intimidating, but the daggers in his gaze are probably even more so. He wants to lift the man up and shake him like a ragdoll in the hopes of that making him give honest answers. But Steve has a few ideas about where his anger is coming from, and most of it has nothing to do with this poor fella, so he restrains himself. He’s not a bully, after all, he has no right to terrorize others just because he’s confused and grieving and scared. (And because he could. God help him, he _could._ )

“Hard luck, I’m nearly never serious,” Tony shrugs.

“I want to see Peggy. Or one of my men. Hell, even Colonel Phillips, if he’s around. I want a fucking known source to back up your words, mister. And I want to go out of this fucking room _right now_.”

Tony’s face brightens. “You’re swearing! Hell, I’d never imagine! Dad’d shit bricks if he’d hear that!”

Steve can see striking his face so clearly in his mind. But he was never the one to hit someone just because the person was this annoying. Also, his hits are not to be taken lightly, not in the last two years. After he sent a major to the infirmary with a concussion by a light knock on his head he learned to pull even his friendly punches. Instead of doing something stupid he’d regret a moment later, he walks to the door, gives a pointed look and folds his arms in front of himself.

“As we’re on the topic, fair warning: the world’s changed a lot since you were out,” Tony says as he stands up, and he suddenly seems more nervous than when Steve was towering nearly over him.

It’s a distressing discovery that gets Steve uneasy as well. Tony has no reason to be anxious except if he lied earlier and he doesn’t want to be caught on so fast. On the other hand, he could just insist on staying in the room if he’d be worried about _that_. It makes no sense at all.

Except.

The way he phrases himself. _‘The world changed a lot since you were out,’_ Tony said. _Since you were out_. It indicates… Change takes time.

A lot of change takes a lot of time.

It makes no sense, but nothing about Steve makes sense anyhow.

He grabs the doorknob to stay on his feet as his head swims with the possibility. “How long?”

Tony freezes mid-step and his face goes blank, but his hands pick on his clothes nervously. He doesn’t look Steve in the eye. Steve’s stomach drops down a few more floors.

The music stopped some time ago, but Steve had been so focused on this man that he can’t even say when, only that the silence around them now is deafening. The walls are really soundproof. Steve can hear not only Tony’s even breathing but the friction of his clothes accompanying every movement and the elevated rate of Tony’s heartbeat, as well as his own, drumming away in his ears frantically

“You figured it out sooner than I expected,” Tony says and his voice is soft now, interwoven with sadness and loss. “No way of breaking it gently to you, Cap.”

“Breaking _what?_ ”

The kind-and-sad tone just makes everything so much worse. Steve’s mind is racing. Tony stays in place. "I didn't introduce myself properly earlier. Let me do it now. My name is Tony Stark."

Steve stares, and it feels like he sees the man the first time.

The similarities.

The familiar bone structure of the face. The same soft, almost-black, dark-brown hair. The shape of the eyes is the same as well, but Tony's eye color is warmer, softer somehow, closer to hazelnut and chocolate. Howard's eyes he always thought of like coffee and tree bark, nothing sweet or tasteful but sore and cold. But the kinship, now that he paid attention to it, is obvious. Steve clears his throat. "Howard never mentioned he had a brother."

"Because he didn't have," Tony takes a cautious step ahead. "Daddy dearest was an only child, and he had only one child himself. Me."

Tony stands next to him, and Steve is unable to react in any way, shape or form, other than releasing the doorknob so Tony can open up the door.

“It’s 2011, Cap. You’ve been out of the picture for nearly seven decades. I’m sorry.”

Steve’s breath is caught in his chest with an awful noise as he follows Tony out.


	2. Tony Stark

When Jarvis alerts him, Tony is in the workshop as per usual. Since he doesn’t have to do board meetings and other boring stuff for SI anymore (God bless poor Pepper for accepting the promotion to CEO), he can focus all of his time and effort on what he likes the most: inventing. The pure joy of discovering new angles, of seeing things and possibilities, of doing the unexpected. The excitement of shaping the future for the better, of giving people what they might not even know they need. Of finding a solution to an already existing problem by some miracle engineering.

Tony lives for and thrills on these moments and experiences. It’s not like he’s a workaholic - by default, he hates even the word ‘work’ - but he’s a sucker for the eureka-moments, for the faces lit up seeing or using his inventions, for the proud and amused smiles he gets from his loved ones when he introduces a new design to them. He never can get enough of these. He can never sit back and be content because there’s always more to do, more to discover, more to figure out, but it’s okay, it’s all worth it.

His beloved child of an AI knows this, has the firsthand experience with it, so when Jarvis interrupts his engineering binge Tony knows without a doubt it’s important.

“I suggest you sit down to hear this, Sir,” the AI states as soon as he has Tony’s attention, and it immediately has Tony’s heart rate amplifying, his pulse skyrocketing and his thoughts spiraling out of control. What happened this time, what bad news, is it Rhodey or Pepper or James, is it Iron Man business, is it a bomb like James’s confession about his… well, _involvement_ in Tony’s parents’ death a few months ago? ( _God please no, he doesn’t want to undergo something like that again._ ) So many possibilities for the world to turn from happy-content-familiar to cold-unbearable-unrecognizable in a second.

“Please calm down, Sir, it’s about the Avengers Initiative,” Jarvis says, and he probably tries to be reassuring, but it doesn’t really work. Because it means two things: one, it’s Iron Man business; two, it’s a really possibly literally world-ending scenario. Because the Avengers will be needed when all else fails. Tony is on his feet and hurries toward his armor: the sooner he has it on, the better, and he should contact Fury and Romanoff, and—

“Sir, SHIELD found Captain Rogers, and he seems to be alive.”

Tony stops dead on his track and genius or not, he can’t believe it for a few seconds and the only word he can come up with is-

_FUCK._

And then:

_Where is James?_

“Does James…” No, it’s not right. Calling him James when the context is mixed with Captain America. He might be James to Tony now, but he was Bucky to Steve Rogers before that. “Does Bucky know?”

“No, Sir. At the moment you are among the seven people who know about it.”

Tony sits down on the floor and tries to think. That’s his forte, right? Thinking. It doesn’t feel like that right now. This situation is different than when he discovered James’s identity. So many things happened since then, the world turned upside down a few times, he literally and publicly became a _superhero_ , he was considered to become the _superhero leader_ by SHIELD people (thanks to Romanoff and Fury who both had good opinions about him for some reason), and all in all, the realm of _impossible_ is not within eyesight anymore. So Daddy dearest’s old Cap buddy is alive after seventy years in exile or wherever he’s been. So what. It’s not like he’s the only world war two hero around Tony, right.

James will be so glad. Probably glad enough to rush to his buddy, to leave Tony behind forever and go superheroing with his childhood best friend instead. He’ll be Bucky again next to Cap. There were many, _many_ heated discussions about the world war and Project Rebirth and such through the decades, but if there were one thing that no one never, ever questioned, that was the bond between James Buchanan Barnes and Steven Grant Rogers.

Tony doesn’t want the old status quo. He needs James. He’s… he would never admit it out loud, not wanting to jinx it, but he’s even been _happy_ with James. (How fucked up is _that_ in the first place, but, well, knowing Tony’s sexual history, it’s probably not even the third most fucked up thing he did with a partner. Not like sex was on the table with James. At all.) If James will be less fucked up on his own right (or Cap's, but maybe that's just semantics), if he goes back to be perfect hero Bucky Barnes (and who wouldn’t be their best self for goddamn Captain America), then he won’t want to be around Tony anymore because Tony’s still so broken.

Tony should tell James. Immediately, since it’s good news. But. What if it’s false. (Jarvis wouldn’t do that to Tony, he knows.) What if SHIELD is wrong. (Can SHIELD assume someone to be alive when they’re really not? Nah, they’re not amateurs.) What if something freaky is going on. (Okay, with a secret spy organization that’s never out of the range of possibilities.) He should make sure with his own eyes before he gets James’s hopes up in vain. ( _That_  would definitely be soul-crushing.) He can justify shutting his trap with this line of reasoning. Just… for a few more hours. Keeping secrets is bad, of course, but it’s for James’s own sake.

He wants to go and look for him immediately. He wants to hold his hands and he wants his shy kisses and the light in his eyes.

But James is observant, he’d see right through him, and Tony needs just a bit more time before he’s ready to tell him… though he’s pretty sure James wouldn’t push the matter if he’d ask. But. That would feel wrong, even more wrong.

Tony takes a few shaky breath.

Captain Fucking America.

Alive.

If it’s true.

He needs to know for sure.

“Jarvis, call Fury.”

***

On his way to SHIELD Tony rings up Rhodey. Because when he's in doubt, when he needs support, he calls Rhodey, more or less constantly since they graduated. He's lucky Rhodey does the same, otherwise their over the line dynamics would be pretty one-sided.

"Hey, it's Tony," he greets when the line connects them.

"What did he do?"

Tony makes a face. "This joke was outdated before we graduated."

"Tell something new. The question still stands, what did you do now?"

"Would you believe it if I said nothing?"

"Nope," Rhodey pops the 'p'.

"Too bad. I didn't do anything this time." He waits until that sinks in, and as he predicted, Rhodey sobers up pretty quickly.

"What's wrong, then?"

"You okay if I commit high treason by telling you national security secrets or something?"

"Aren't you doing that all the time?"

Fair point. But it makes Tony stop and think, and he realizes he can't tell the whole story to his Platypus because not even he is aware of James's true past identity. Tony couldn't tell Rhodey he's afraid of losing his boyfriend over the freshly found Captain America because it wouldn't make any sense, and the missing piece of information is not Tony's secret to share. And as much as SHIELD doubts it, he's more than capable of keeping secrets.

So instead of starting talking about finding Captain America, or about his insecurities regarding his relationship, he clears his throat and realizes he has to come up with something else. Something that is big news enough to distract Rhodey from questioning the invocation of this talk, which is not easy. "Is Pepper dating you?" he blurts out before thinking about it.

"What?" Rhodey sounds genuinely shocked. " _What?_ Is she dating someone? Since when?"

Tony smiles. "It's more like a suspicion than a fact," he warns and starts to babble without paying much attention, all the while being unable to tear his thoughts away from Captain America and Bucky Barnes. But it's okay, it's not Rhodey's problem - it's something he'll have to figure out himself.

***

So by the end of the day, he ends up in the middle of New York in an observation room next to the Captain’s with none other than the Director of SHIELD and their favorite spy Romanoff. Both of them look at Tony with obvious disapproval etched in on their features, their arms crossed in front of them. Clearly not happy with the fact that he was able to find out about this little secret. Tony shrugs.

“Of course I keep tabs on you, and I’m the best with computers in the world. Anything that goes digital enters my playground.” He doesn’t talk about Jarvis yet. They don’t need to know the extent of his AI’s abilities - SHIELD is not the only one full of secrets. “How is this even possible?”

“The doctor said that freezing in the arctic ice preserved his body and there was a chance the serum kept him alive all through it. We were skeptical, of course. It should’ve been impossible.”

“How much does this doc know about the serum that let him make such an educated guess?”

“More than anyone else.”

Tony’s eyes lit up. “You’ve found Doctor Banner?”

Natasha's smile is so full of herself Tony wants to pat her on the shoulder. “He was never lost, we just didn’t bother him. But when Coulson reported finding the body we thought he might be interested. He was.”

“I hope you didn’t threaten him with anything,” Tony frowns.

“Who do you think we are?” Romanoff plays it like she’s offended. “I offered him a chance to do scientific research for SHIELD, and our agreement was not about a green rage monster except for the closure he insisted.”

On one hand, sending her to fetch a valuable scientist is a sensible decision. On the other hand, if SHIELD is so afraid of the monster that smashed Harlem, all of it was an unnecessary risk. Of course, the risk is in the job description, so Romanoff probably didn’t protest too much.

“Which is?”

“Which is, if he turns into ‘the Other Guy’ we’ll do everything in our power to stop him from hurting anybody.”

It doesn’t stop him from frowning, but at least it’s reasonable. SHIELD would do that anyway. “Okay for now.”

“You’re not in the position to form opinions about our decisions.”

Tony smiles. What does Fury think Tony’d do when they had their agreement about him leading the Avengers in the future if the Initiative is needed? He can’t be that naive.

“You consider Dr. Banner and his Hulk a member of the team you promised I’ll lead if the need arises. I’d think that‘s as good a base to form my opinion legitimately as any.”

“Things have changed.” Tony blinks twice. Before he has time to contemplate what Fury meant, Fury points to the room where Steve Rogers lies sedated. “If he’s what he has been claimed to be then he’s the best candidate for the team leadership.”

Tony follows the movement, and he can’t help the confusion settling into his bones. He instinctively wants to argue. He wants to pout like a child because Fury _promised_ and Tony was _good_ and he prepared for all kind of emergencies and… But there is truth in the words. Captain America is… an entirely different case. He is a legend. He’s a tactical genius. He has the right kind of mental flexibility mixed with a stubborn morality and he proved through and through to be ready to sacrifice himself for others. If the things Howard (and the entire nation, by the way) said about him are correct and true, then he’s easily the best candidate to protect the Earth - even if it causes almost physical pain for Tony to admit it.

But.

What if it’s not true.

What if it was once, but seventy years spent in ice changed the guy.

What if it’s all true, he didn’t change, but he can’t adapt. What if he can never understand this new world. What if he breaks down. What if…

Too many factors to even start calculating with. Tony flinches.

“You can’t really count on him yet,” he says quietly instead of shouting.

“I’m not.” Tony remembers what Fury said once: he doesn’t trust files. “He’ll need to be tested several times, several ways, before he could be cleared to even leave this building. But if he does well he’ll be the leader of the Avengers, Stark.”

Tony swallows back the sourness from his throat. “And if he doesn’t want it?”

“Captain America can’t say no to the nation when it needs him.”

Tony has the urge to punch Fury in the face. He personally hates if he has no choice, and if something ever happens that has that effect then he makes new options for himself. The mere thought of subjecting anyone else to a no-other-options treatment is its own kind of misery. But he stops himself before he could speak up. It’s not his job to protect the Goddamn American Dream Personification. He’s got to be fully capable of protecting himself, after all.

But there’s James. _Bucky_ , Tony corrects himself again. And Bucky deserves his friend back.

“We’ll break it to him slowly,” Fury promises. Tony’s gaze slides over to Romanoff who stayed mute all through the conversation but her sharp eyes followed everything. He’s pretty sure Natasha could write an entire dissertation about Tony’s body language alone not to mention the other factors. The woman doesn’t meet his eyes, but she nods, a little motion of her head, almost invisible. Tony takes it as a full-force encouragement.

“With respect, Fury, fuck you,” Tony says, and he makes sure to sound entirely _cheerful_ doing so. “I’m gonna talk to him, now. Cut the sedatives.”

“The minute we stop to give him the chemicals he’ll wake,” Natasha warns while checking out her nails. They’re painted red. “His metabolism really burns through everything _fast_.”

Fury gives her a look that Tony can only interpret as proof that Fury is annoyed at Romanoff liking him enough to share confidential information. Huh. Tony still has no idea how he deserved this trust from not one, but two scary secret spy assassin. Life is so weird.

But he gets the clearance to go and talk to Rogers. Childhood hero, dad’s favorite, his lover’s long-dead best friend and all. _Terrific._

***

If he’s honest with himself, it goes unexpectedly well. Firstly, Rogers is instantly suspicious, which is understandable. Though SHIELD made sure to make his room indistinctive  - cleared out the medical and technological equipment and everything -, but Tony can imagine how strange Rogers must still feel. He remembers his own first days after captivity when everything was off and he couldn’t wrap his head around the most trivial things sometimes. Rogers may have been technically dead - or at least unconscious - during his time in the ice, but his body must hold some kind of muscle memory even if his brain doesn’t. So even without the telltale clues, he might feel weird as well.

Secondly, Steve Rogers doesn’t recognize him, not even a faint hint of familiarity, and Tony could collapse in relief. Among his several worst years were the few in his teens when everyone said he looked like his father. Luckily, with much time and some effort (like facial hair styling or learning to contour as a drastic measure), he outgrew that. In his opinion, he shares more resemblance with his mom than with Howard, for which he is unbelievably grateful. He doesn’t want to be like Howard, not really and not anymore so he doesn’t want to look like him either. If Steve, a person who worked with Howard closely and not long ago (from Steve’s perspective, at least), would have recognized him immediately as Howard’s relative… well, that would’ve been kinda rough.

But no. Rogers doesn’t even put two and two together until Tony formally introduces himself.

After that he’s quick, though, like he was sharp as a tack all through the conversation, figuring things out on his own, using just the few clues Tony gave him.

There are still some sore points, like talking about Aunt Peggy. Tony doesn’t lie, per definition. She’s really not in the state, though he means more mentally than geographically, and he’s pretty sure she’ll be happy to see Rogers, provided she recognizes him at the moment. (Tony’s relationship with Peggy and the whole keeping secrets, disappearing from his life thing is kinda sore all the way too.) Like Roger’s demand of _‘his men’_ to be here, to be safe. Tony can see clearly how much he cares about the members of the Howling Commandos. Tony’d appreciate it more if it wouldn’t mean good leadership quality for Fury to compare to Tony, who is known to be selfish and not a team player.

Nevertheless, the first meeting goes well. Tony can even understand Rogers’s distress and distrust, therefore he doesn’t object when he wants to see everything on his own.

So Tony unlocks the door and gestures forward. The guy is stiff like a stick but he presses his lips together, squares his shoulders and - there’s no better word for it - marches out.

Tony falls into step beside him, watching silently. He learned a bit from James, and though he’ll never ever be able to sneak around like an infamous assassin, he can tune down himself for a few minutes, enough to observe someone else. Rogers doesn’t scream, doesn’t shout, doesn’t show intense emotions. He just… tenses up, visibly more with each passing second. Tony would joke about him having a stick up his ass, but he has to admit this reaction is more than understandable. And it’s better than what everyone expected from him, given how Fury planned to trick him or something, before Tony got there. (He’s really glad he got there in time.)

The New York SHIELD HQ is pretty high-tech, not as much as Tony’s home, but still considerably so. And it’s full of people who seemingly don’t bat a single eyelash at them. They’re trained spies, after all. When Rogers walks toward the main entrance, a couple of guards start to circle around them, possibly to stop him from leaving, but Tony stares at the nearest camera, muttering silently: _‘Don’t you dare, Fury_ ’ with his best death glare (also learned from Barnes in the past months, bless his murderous heart), and it works. The guards retreat.

Steve Rogers steps to the streets of modern New York, with Tony Stark closely behind him. The guy stops, turns a few times around himself, and stares and tries to process everything.

Tony counts the seconds, clutching his own wrist, fingers near his watch, ready to alert Jarvis if anything happens, if Rogers starts to run, if he loses it and tries to hurt someone, if… but he can’t imagine the latter, really, he’s the pinnacle of human perfection (according to Dad), he’s the most morally straightforward guy (according to Aunt Peggy), he’s a living breathing legend (apparently), he is…

He is awfully pale at the moment but there’s grim determination in his features.

“I don’t think even the Red Skull would have the resources to set up a scene like this,” he whispers, voice dull. “You weren’t kidding, it’s really the future.”

“Excuse me, Capsicle, I might be a dick, but even I wouldn’t joke with this.” Tony tries his best to sound casual, and not to be offended.

“Is anyone even alive that I knew?” There’s no hope in his voice.

“Oh, yes, don’t worry, there are, a few people, not much, but they’re still kicking, I promise,” Tony reassures him as quick as possible, but even he can’t see the movement as Rogers grabs his arm, his grip almost painfully tight, and he leans close like his life depends on Tony and he might drown if he lets him go.

“Can I… Can you…? Meeting with— no! No, that wouldn’t work,” he corrects himself and lets go of Tony, harshly that he loses his balance for a moment. “They’re old and I didn’t change, they probably don’t remember me anyway, or I’d scare them and that would be like a ghost coming back from the grave, wouldn’t it? I have no right to do this to them,” he nods too quickly, possibly discussing more with himself than with Tony, and he blinks too much while turns away to stare into the crowd of new yorkers who don’t pay any attention to them, who hurry toward their own destinations, totally indifferent of the life shattering into a million pieces right in front of their eyes.

But Tony sees it and _he_ has to swallow back a lump in his throat before he’s able to form a word. “I doubt they’d ever be able to forget you,” he says, thinking not only of the whole nation adoring Cap, not only of Howard worshipping him ‘till his death, but also of Peggy with her hazy mind clutching to the image of Steve Rogers, and of James with his _‘blond boy’_ memories he rarely ever talks about. Tony’s lost in his thoughts for a moment while Steve’s eyes snap at him. There’s too much of white, like a scared horse, and Rogers sure pants like one.

Tony doesn’t want to startle him and doesn’t dare to put his hand on his shoulder like he would with James when he acts like this. He can more or less anticipate James’s reactions by now, but Rogers is new and unfamiliar and Tony also knows from firsthand experience how bad idea it is to startle someone who has super strength. So he just very cautiously steps closer to him - so close, actually, that he can feel the unnatural heat coming from Rogers. He wears only a T-shirt and not even shoes. That must be cold.

“It’s alright,” Tony says, even though he knows it’s an empty phrase and nothing more. “It’s tough, but I promise you’re not alone in this,” his voice is low and he means it. He can’t guarantee anything with SHIELD, but be can speak for himself. And he wouldn’t let Rogers stay this lost, no matter how much of a dick he might turn out to be in the future, or how much it will hurt to realize he’s as much of a man as his father claimed him to be. “You wanna explore more or want to have a rest?”

Rogers stares for another twenty-seven second before something clicks in his head, and some of the tension visibly washes off of him. He puts his hand on Tony’s bicep like the contact could mean a life buoy in the flood of new information. “Thank you, Mr. Stark.” He even bows his head a little bit. Must be a polite thing to do, but all Tony is able to blink in surprise.

“Tony,” he rasps out with a few moments delay. “I guess you should offer since you’re the older, but please call me just Tony.”

Rogers winces at the possibility of him being older than Tony but nods nonetheless. “Only if you call me Steve,” he says.

Tony shrugs but with only his free shoulder. “Sure thing, Steve.”

“Thank you, Tony.” He looks in Tony’s eyes and his voice is so warm, his gaze is so sincere and the little squeeze in his bicep is so gentle that it takes Tony’s breath away.

No wonder. No wonder they were so fond of him.

Tony smiles back and pats Steve’s hand, still out of breath. It has to be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feed the writer with comments and feedback, because she needs validation! :)  
> Also, as I'm a non-native speaker, feel free to point out any grammatical errors and/or typos. I'm trying my best but it's always a work in progress. :)


	3. James

James leaps through the obstacle and fires. The dummy’s head splits into two parts, meaning that he managed to hit its center with the desired accuracy even while moving. It’s the least that can be expected from the former Asset. He even has the mental capacity to think while doing the training simulation System Jarvis is projecting for him.

Yinsen watches him from behind the glass of the observation room. A while back James wouldn’t have let anyone see him like this, it would have been beyond protocols to allow anyone but the handlers witness his efficiency. But he left Hydra, he got a new Mechanic, and since then he slowly morphed from the Fist of Hydra to simply James. In some ways, he’s still the Asset - he still has the skillset, the focus, and sometimes even the static in his head. But he’s not _It_ anymore. Which is good. It’s an improvement, he’s sure even though he’s not sure why and to where it all leads. He’ll figure it out eventually. He’s working on it. He’s okay being called the Soldier, though, because the Soldier has his Mechanic, and that’s important even in its incorrectness. But being James is a _huge_ accomplishment.

Unfortunately, he’s _only_ James. As much as he’s not the Soldier anymore, he’s not Bucky Barnes either. He reacts badly whenever the Asset is mentioned, even in passing. But he reacts even worse when the Bucky-person is mentioned.

Tony tried calling him Bucky twice: first, without, and then with a warning. Both experiments resulted in James dissociating so hard he has no memories of those days at all after the name, just the static and pain in his mind. They agreed on a last experiment and Tony called him Barnes, soft and almost apologetic. It made James halt in motion, with flesh arm trembling so hard it became useless and metal arm wheezing frantically, plates moving so as to make the limb appear bigger than usual. The experiment ended with bared teeth and, after three point seven seconds, leaping for the nearest weapon with desperation marrowed into the soul and written clearly on features. James regained his control over himself the moment he felt the familiar weight of a gun in his hand, but it still wasn’t a pleasant memory. It was four months and seven days ago and they didn’t try anything resembling since.

So he’s James, only James, no more and no less. He’s Tony’s and Tony is his, and for the moment it’s enough.

It doesn’t mean he could afford his skills to rust. He’s pretty sure Hydra is out there and wants their Asset back, so the moment they catch up to his mistakes - and yeah, he’d made a few since his escape -, they’ll be on his tail and he’ll be forced to protect himself and the ones who became important to him.

The list started with the Mark, with his Mechanic. Tony’s safety has priority over the others’.

But. Surprisingly, there _are_ others.

“I’ll switch to the next level, you seem bored,” Yinsen’s voice comes from the speakers.

Yinsen is on the list, definitely, even though he’s a doctor. Luckily he never wears lab coats and doesn’t talk in medical terminology and doesn’t try to poke needles into James’s brain. On the contrary: he’s as broken as the Asset. He receives therapy. James has no idea why would anyone ever voluntarily go through therapy - he remembers them, he remembers the pain that made even the Asset scream, he remembers the days in agony he needed to return to baseline functionality; he doesn’t want to but sometimes he remembers -, but he’s smarter than to ask. If Yinsen wants it, despite occasionally coming back from the session with marks of tears on his face, that’s his business as long as he doesn’t force others. (Which he tried, but only verbally, and the moment James growled at him he stopped and retreated.)

The second one is Potts. The woman is a mystery: easily the strongest person James knows, with such authority aura around her that lets her boss Tony and Rhodes around as well, but at the same time she’s the most physically vulnerable of the lot. James remembers the first time Potts was (for lack of better options) allowed to see him: when his task was to escort her into safety from the threat of Obadiah Stane - an order from his Mechanic that James had chosen to obey because he trusted Tony to make the right call. Revealing his identity to Potts was not intentional, but it turned out to be manageable, and Pepper became not only an ally but maybe even a friend of his.

She supported both James and Tony and even them being an item. James is on his way to learn to trust her as well, but that’s easier said than done. Trusting Tony became easy, an instinctive reaction by now. Maybe that’s all it will take to trust Potts and Yinsen.

Still, when she too tried to suggest therapy to Tony, it made James freak out. He couldn’t eat for two days after that and, except short bathroom breaks, he wasn’t leaving Tony alone for two more. Until today James has no idea why these people are so insistent on causing such suffering to themselves and why they pose it as a good thing, but he has no intention to actually find it out in the near future.

As far as James is able to tell, neither Potts or Yinsen know about Barnes, about _him_ having been called Barnes once upon a time. A relief in the midst of the chaos.

The third and so far the last person was Rhodes. Still complicated and still too fresh to puzzle it out.

Rhodes was important to Tony, and consequently, he became important to James as well even before they actually met. But the same could be said about the driver-slash-security Hogan, and yet James doesn't consider him as a friend or ally. (Based on the past events: it'll be only a matter of time and proximity.) Rhodes became personally important to James after he learned about him, after they fought side by side with Tony against Vanko and his robots. After that an introduction was really necessary... and it went just as well as predicted. But now Rhodes is part of their small inner circle, knows about them and tries to participate in movie nights and is as supportive as can be.

Saying that they like each other would be a bit too far stretched. They tolerate each other. They don’t confront each other openly. James often finds the man's humor hilarious, and Rhodes always makes sure that James doesn’t feel left out of anything, but... there’s that heavy silence between them, some tension James can't really resolve no matter how he tries.

He understands a bit, at least he thinks he does.

On one hand, Rhodes is a soldier, a military person, trained to recognize threats, and James is very much a threat if he wants to be. But it goes both ways - among the people who know about James's existence, Rhodes is able to do the most harm to him. They both know that they're dangerous, they're capable of hurting each other and the ones they care about. No reason to play pretend, they can show their true faces, but it doesn't resolve the tension either. So they just have to deal with it.

On the other hand, maybe Rhodes is just as territorial as James is, and sharing someone is not easy. Especially not among soldiers who don’t have many people to rely on and connect with. Rhodes knew Tony way before James and they have a history together, something James is jealous of but also wants to protect, for Tony. And. Rhodes is not a bad man. He's actually kind and funny, steel core with soft edges, encouragement with protective threats interwoven in it. He's also smart - not a rocket scientist for nothing and that shit is _so cool_ -, and observant, and he understands people way better than anyone in their group, maybe except Yinsen.

The simulation speeds up, enemies turning up from nowhere and changing locations faster than a normal human would be able to do so, and James has to focus. Jarvis updates his program after every session, building in the information about James's abilities and making fulfilling the exercise mission harder and harder each time.

It's lots of trust, to allow System to store this much information about him and his abilities, but James has to practice trust.

He's panting hard and sweat breaks his skin by the time he's incapacitating the last dummy by shooting out its kneecaps, or at least what should've been kneecaps if it'd be a human being. James is glad he doesn't need to train on humans anymore; he hated that, even as brainwashed and dehumanized as he was during his HYDRA days.

"Everything settled?" The question comes from nowhere and everywhere as Jarvis speaks up, and a robot shouldn't be allowed to sound sympathetic, yet it is. James nods.

"Want to go another run?" Yinsen asks from the observation room. James nods again, though he knows Yinsen prefers verbal responses over gestures. "That's unfortunate, because Tony wants you in the workshop, so you won't get one." The doctor’s tone is actually _smug_ , and other times James'd scowl, but instead he grins at the mere thought of Tony wanting him near.

It's still a miracle of its own, someone wanting _him_ . Tony has his own scars and bruises - and James will never truly forgive himself for letting Tony go to Afghanistan and collecting some of them, neither that he didn’t stop Stane’s betrayal in time. They have overcome things together - things like the Asset being the murderer of Tony’s parents -, and to James's utter surprise, against the odds, this... relationship-thing just _works_ between them so far. Maybe not the way it should. There are times when they need to be alone, or the opposite: sometimes they need each other's presence like their life depends on it. James is quite sure that two men should not kiss, or at least he _thinks_ that's not how things should work. It’s supposed to be a pretty dame like Pepper on Tony’s side. At the same time, being with Tony, holding his hand and giving him a kiss _feels_ just right whenever he does it, and the contradiction confuses him sometimes. But he can't muster up the strength to question it out loud. He hasn't got many things that make him feel right. He's ready to protect the pleasures he has, and being with Tony is above everything. So he doesn't care if his mind nags him about it being wrong: it's his life, his pleasure, his anchor - everything else be damned. If Tony wants him, who is he to protest? And maybe it's not right that they don't do much more than kissing - even though they live together and sleep together -, they don't touch each other more _intimately_ than that. Living together should indicate more than kissing - but that again is more like a _thought_ , or maybe a memory, and not something he _feels_ , so he decides to ignore it. This partnership, this relationship might be dysfunctional, it might be wrong, but James would be ready to fight tooth and nail to defend it, because it's also good, it's warm and comforting and safe and it's _theirs_. Anything else doesn't really matter.

So he cleans up the training ground after himself, drops the fake weapons into their places, and joins Yinsen to hurry back to the mansion.

As they walk in comfortable silence, James remembers he wanted to ask something that bugged him, so he carefully touches his shoulder to Yinsen's. The man looks up immediately, knowing that any kind of physical contact has some meaning with James. "Hm? Did I zone out on you?"

James shakes his head. "Is it true that Pepper is dating someone? Tony thinks it is." At least, he mentioned it as a possibility yesterday, and it was enough to make James suspicious and worried and on edge.

"How should I know?" Yinsen asks back, bewildered. "I'm not really, never was into this... romantic... relationship... stuff, you know." His accent thickens, meaning he's uncomfortable. James thinks the new information through without any hurry.

"We should do a background check on him," he says finally after coming to conclusion. "If he's safe." _And if he's good enough for Pepper_ , he adds mutely. It's not like there's barely any people alive on Earth who could fill that requirement, though. Maybe Tony. But Tony is with James, apparently, and he doesn't want to change that fact, not even for Pepper.

"I think Pepper is an adult who can decide herself, and if she needs any help from you, she'll definitely ask for it." Yinsen's gaze turns sharp. "She’s talked about this with you, James. _Boundaries_."

James only shrugs. He doesn't think that conversation detailing how he should let people have their personal space is relevant here. He's pretty sure Tony was right when he joined into the conversation from nowhere and pointed out that James is actually really good with boundaries since he doesn't let anyone close to himself or to them. Which is true, with some exceptions. He has to make sure his little mismatched collection of humans he cares for is safe, after all.

"Seriously," Yinsen grunts, then sighs and waves. "Why am I even talking? It's not like you listen to anyone but Tony."

"That's not true! I always listen."

"And then you do what you'd have done anyway."

Well, _that_ he can't really deny. It takes a lot to convince him to change his mind.

"I'll verify him," he nods to himself.

"Or her," Yinsen adds absent-mindedly. James stares at him. "Come on, if she likes women, she's allowed to be with one."

He didn't even think about this possibility. It hits him hard how much it resonates with his earlier thoughts about a relationship between two men, and his heart beats faster at the thought. According to Yinsen, it's allowed among females, and if the logic doesn't fail him here, it should be the same with males. He wants to grin in triumph - and then he sobers up. Right now it's not the point and James has to direct his focus back, because it's about Pepper and Pepper deserves all the protection James could offer.

On one hand, a relationship with a female might be desired, since they're socially conditioned to be less violent and more adaptable, but on the other hand if they want to mean harm this makes them even more dangerous. Women, in general, are way more creative, thus unpredictable, so that adds up to their threat level. The world is really lucky there are not many women as qualified as the Black Widow.

Oh. The Black Widow. Pepper met her when she was here to spy on Tony. According to Pepper, they even became friends. What if Pepper goes on dates with Natalia? That would be disastrous. That is a way more dangerous image than any man James is able to picture next to Pepper. That would be a menace. They'd overthrow governments in a good night, and achieve world dominance in a bad one.

"Yep, not scary at all," he mutters, comfortable enough with his current company to say the thought out loud. Yinsen just gives a questioning glance, but he doesn't ask and James doesn't elaborate. He has to make sure Pepper and Natalia never go on a date with each other. Then he has to check the person Pepper is going on dates with (if that person even exists), talk to them if they make the cut and get rid of them if they're not good enough.

"Have fun," Yinsen wishes as they part their ways, and James is pretty sure he hears the sarcasm in his voice. Either because he can figure out his train of thoughts or because James goes to meet Tony, he's not sure.

***

 _Something's off._ Something bad happened. James knows the moment he steps into the workshop - first, because Tony is walking in circles while working on an Iron Man gauntlet still on his left hand, second, because the music that blasts from the speaker system is not classic rock but something closer to 40s dance music. If it wasn't so uncharacteristic for Tony to listen to it, it'd effectively soothe James's nerves, but now that he knows he should be calmed down just make him nervous in the first place. Something's happened and Tony wants him to be relaxed about it.

James takes a few deep breaths. He can do it - for Tony. He will try his damn best to stay calm and reasonable, whatever the problem will be. He steps closer, and kicks some gear on purpose while doing so to warn his Mechanic to his presence.

"James!"

Tony's face still brightens up when he looks at him and James feels the usual warmth bubbling in his stomach as he approaches. He gives a light kiss on Tony's lips and wraps him in his arms cautiously. The ever-present worry in his mind shuts up for a few blessed moments as he inhales Tony's scent - sharp and metallic and organic at the same time - and listens to the music and fights down the urge to start rocking to the tune. Would Tony even know how to do a Lindy hop? Would James know? He's pretty sure both of them would.

"Hi, Mechanic," he murmurs into Tony's ear. "I’m here. What's wrong?"

Tony doesn't ask how he knows, just stiffens up a bit and unwraps himself to continue pacing while he gathers his thoughts. James sits down on a stool, metal arm betraying his fake calm with the loud whirring as it recalibrates. He doesn’t need to wait for long, because it’s _Tony_ , he can talk a mile in a minute, especially if he’s nervous, and he does it now as well.

"Okay, first of all, don't freak out. Or at least don't break anything while freaking out. Or, you know, don't break anything irreplaceable, like me. It's good news, really, so you should be happy, I just thought to give you a fair warning, since it's a bit much to process, it was even for me, and I'm literally the genius in the room. So anyway, it's your buddy. I had a call from SHIELD. Technically I hadn't, because I discovered it for myself, and then I called Fury and it turned out to be true, so there's that." Tony barely takes time to inhale as he goes on with his ramblings, and James has to concentrate to at least moderately understand what is this about, because he has no idea so far. What buddy of his, in the first place? He has no one else but these people around him, and he doesn't want any more, really. It's too much stress already, trying to keep all of them safe. He would say so, but Tony seems unstoppable now, words pouring without a pause for breath.

"They've found him in the Arctic. They spent seventy years looking for him and now he's back and he's alive. If I wouldn't know you I'd say it's impossible, but even with you, I have hard times to believe. He walked off a seventy years nap like a champ, to be fair, and he's in a pretty good state for a zombie. So. What I'm saying, Sleeping Beauty is every inch the hero everyone said he is. Which is quite unsettling, but you'd know that already, right? So. I think I could smuggle the American Dream Personification out for you to meet him, I'm pretty sure he'd love to have a familiar face around. You both deserve it. What d'you think?"

It's a miracle Tony's words don't slur together, he talks so fast. James blinks at him a few times, realizes belatedly that the pause means he should answer something. The problem is, he still has no idea what is this about, despite hearing all the separately more or less sensible words.

"What?" he settles with asking the most basic thing in mild amusement.

Tony rolls his eyes, and the curve of his shoulders screams nervousness as he plants himself in front of James. James has to fight back the urge to get up and give him a massage, just to ease the knots out from the muscles. "C'mon, don't be shy. I promise I won't be mad, not even jealous. I know you and Capsicle has a history, okay, everyone knows, and it's totally okay with me."

 _He starts to sound hysterical_ , James notes to himself, and he holds his hand out for Tony to cling onto, but Tony doesn't move to grab it. It stings, not even a little, but like an electric baton slammed into an open chest wound.

"So, you're allowed to be happy, to go mad, to wanna be with him, okay? It's totally alright."

"What the hell are you talking about," James frowns, lost.

Tony sighs dramatically and plasters his gloved hand into his chest, covering the ARC-reactor almost completely. James eyes the spilling light that is just as fascinating as always, yet he can't concentrate on it fully.

"Your buddy? They've found him. The Star-Spangled Man With A Plan? The First Avenger? Captain America? Steve Rogers?" Tony lists, and it almost turns out comical how much James has no idea what's happening, until the last words.

Because hearing Captain America makes his stomach flip and his brain starting to catch up but saying _Steve Rogers_ is what really makes a difference. That's the name that turns James's world upside down in a heartbeat, that's what makes his thoughts halt and his heartbeat skip drums and that’s what makes a life flashing in front of his eyes.

It's _blondbluesmallkind_.

It's the _boy in the light_ , the one from the possibly-memories.

The one that comes like a ghost and leaves aching absence in James's chest where his heart is supposed to be.

It's the man with a heart as golden as his hair, the one who needed to become big and strong to fit all that fierce love and rage into his body somehow before it killed him.

It's the dead one who haunted the Asset and made the handlers wipe him again and again.

It's the name that was in his mind all along, but he never actually allowed it to be there, terrified of its the influence, scared of all the things it might cause.

 _Steve_.

He knows Steve. He loves Steve. He lost Steve.

James doesn't know when he started to cry, but his face is wet and there are tears rolling down on his cheeks and all he's able to croak out is " _He's dead_."

 

Because he is.

 

HYDRA killed him, long ago, maybe even before James became the Asset. They showed him - the newspapers, the news on the television, the funeral, the grief and mourning. James remembers, suddenly, how something crumbled inside of him, how he hunched in on himself to be smaller, how he wished to be dead too, because Steve being dead meant the loss of hope, it meant that no one will save him, no one will come to rescue him, not again. He remembers himself cracking, remembers himself giving in, because there was no point anymore. Steve being dead meant the realization that the nightmare will never end, the tortures will never end, and there will be nothing else to come.

"He's dead," he repeats, and his heart shatters all the way again, because Steve should've been the hero, he was James’s... he was _Bucky’s_ hero long before he became big, he should've been immortal and invincible and untouchable, but he was not, he was just as human as anyone else, and James loved him even more for it.

James can’t pay attention to the world, not even if his life depends on it, but it doesn’t matter because Tony is here and he’ll watch out – Tony is here, too close, right in front of him, and he shouldn’t be, he shouldn’t look at him concerned and worried and he shouldn’t press his hand on James’s chest and shoulder, he shouldn’t care and feel for him because _Steve is dead_. The truth of this sentence weights in James’s soul, and somehow he knows it’s his fault. No, it’s… _Bucky’s_ fault.

Bucky’s fault before he was the Asset and before he was James, in the times of Sergeant, U.S. Army, serial number three-two-five-five—

He’s not sure why, or how, but there are truths in the world that should not be questioned. Irreplaceable truths that make the world spin, truths like James loves Tony, like Bucky loves Steve, like the Winter Soldier would die to fulfill its mission on any given day. And these three truths have interwoven themselves into one big knitwork of an universal truth, one handiwork of a cruel fate, because Steve died and Bucky died with him and now only James and Tony are left and the Soldier’s mission will remain incomplete till the end of the world and…

And James can’t think, can’t breathe, everything is a tangled mess in his head because Tony now is saying that Steve is alive but _that’s impossible._

„Oh sweetheart,” Tony sighs and hugs him, strong and careful, and the arms around James are the only thing that saves him from shattering completely. „It’s alright, James, it’s alright, I’m here,” he mumbles.

But it’s not alright. HYDRA told him that Steve was dead, they showed the newsreel, they shoved the funeral, they showed the nation mourning their hero, and Barnes broke like a fucking egg on the floor after a fall – _he broke again like he did after his fall he didn’t remember_ – and…

Steve would have come for Bucky. That is among the unquestionable truths, too.

So this must be a misunderstanding, or a scheme, or a trap, because Steve died and he can't be alive. And HYDRA was always lying but they couldn’t fake something huge like this, even they couldn’t…

„No, they couldn’t,” Tony interrupts his thoughts. „Yes, everybody believed Cap died, but he didn’t. He was like you. He slept.”

James is able to lift his head a little, and he realizes he grabbed Tony’s shirt with both hands and he’s on the floor. He doesn’t remember when he slipped off the stool but now he’s kneeling on the floor.

„And yes, he clearly would've come for you, I'm sure of that, James. He’s like you, sweetheart, very much like you. He was in the ice for nearly seventy years and slept, okay, James, he just slept, frozen, it’s okay.”

It’s painfully slow to process Tony’s words, but when he manages it, his heart sinks and he tears away from the embrace, tense and rigid now, eyes going wide and heart pounding hard and he feels sick like he’s gonna throw up. Steve. In ice. Stored like the prize weapon.

Like the Asset.

_Steve. Ice. Asset._

James wants to scream but only a muffled choke escapes from behind his palm that he clasped onto his mouth.

Whoever had Steve turned him into an Asset too, and the hot _rage_ that boils in his veins to the mere thought makes James see red, but at the same time cold _dread_ weighs in his chest makes him unable to move at all. The Asset, if out of storage, always has a mission, and what mission they might’ve given to _Steve?_

And if they had him, why didn’t they use him for so long?

The answer is so easy, so logical it comes like a punch in the face: because of him. Because they had James, they had the Soldier, they didn’t need the _other one_ , they saved him for better times like Tony saves the middle of the pizza and eats the crusts first, and he’s out now because there’s no Soldier in their hands anymore.

They very possibly woke the other Asset up to retrieve the first one.

If it’s true, if his logic is not failing him - and why would it, he has expert tactical skills - then he’ll have to… he’ll have to fight with Steve? Please, no. Anything, but this. Anyone but him.

He can’t breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now you've seen one chapter from each POV we'll have through this story! How do you like it so far? Did I do justice to them? :) Let me know!  
> Also, if you want, come and visit [my tumblr](https://menatiera.tumblr.com/) as well! :)


	4. Tony

Tony was prepared for it to be hard and he was prepared for the heartbreak. Okay, maybe he wasn’t, but he is an expert at convincing himself about things he should feel in order to survive the day and yeah, he may die when James leaves him - _he’s not overdramatic, shut up, inner voice_ -, but he prepared himself, okay? So he’s as ready as he’ll ever be when James enters the workshop and Tony already mourns the loss when he sees his boyfriend, gorgeous as ever, with eyes lighting up as he meets Tony’s, and fuck, knowing how this is gonna end is like torture.

But he has to endure it because it’s the right thing to do, because he couldn’t keep secrets anyway - no matter how much he wishes for more time, just a little bit more -, and he has no right to keep this secret from James. Cap is his past as well, more than Tony’s, and James deserves to know.

So Tony talks, and even he is aware that his words are coming out no more than nervous mumblings, but he tries his best to get the poison out of his system before it burns his throat up and rips his tongue out, and if it’s a bit messy, well sue him. He’s in the middle of his own heartbreak and his own mental breakdown as well.

And it goes well, at first.

What he means is it’s a disaster from the beginning. James understands precisely nothing, and Tony tries to make his point, tries to be supportive and reassuring, all the while he has to tell the facts that are probably don’t matter, and he can see the exact moment the realization hits James.

It’s like a train accident, equally beautiful and terrifying, and though the viewer knows they shouldn’t stand there and watch, they can’t tear their eyes from the scene and that’s how the human nature works. Tony experiences it firsthand now. He's seen too many disasters already but this one is the one that hurts the most. He wants to scream, to call for help, to move for help, but at the same time his mind is blank, he can’t move, he can’t get himself to do anything useful.

He can’t catch James when he falls on his knees. He can’t reach him while James’s eyes go unfocused. His boyfriend seems so lost and helpless and _tiny_ , something he never ever appeared as yet, not when dissociating, not when hurt (especially not when hurt), not when they talked about the past weighing them down inescapably. But he’s small now, wounded and broken - more broken than on the videos, more broken when he was ridden by guilt. It’s not just… not just tortured or haunted. It’s completely lost. It’s what _Steve Rogers_ does to him.

And Tony wants to follow his lead, he wants to fall apart completely in the face of this overwhelming emotion, the pure _connection_ between two people where simply saying a name can make or unmake a man, something he never had, he will never experience, and he wants to cry.

But he can’t. He has no right, not now. It’s not his turn to break, he has to be strong for his James, even if only for the last time. As much as James was his rock of foundation when he came back from Afghanistan, he was James’s as well as he came back from the cold, and - they needed each other back then and James still needs him right now, and Tony can’t be the fucking egomaniac the world thinks of him, he has to put himself aside and help the person who’s the most important to him.

So Tony braces himself mentally and he straightens his spine and swallows down his feelings and focuses on his task, so he _can_ reach out for James when he mumbles that horrible, terrible denial, that one line that could and should break anyone’s heart - and it certainly does break Tony’s -, and he falls to his knees as well to be at eye level with James while he loses it. It’s like… it’s nothing Tony’s ever heard from him, thoughts pouring out of him like water through a broken dam, and he’s not even sure James knows he’s talking out loud but that just makes it even more hurtful.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Tony says, and chokes on the words so he hugs him instead and wants to cry, wants to scream until his throat becomes hoarse and his tears dry out. But he can’t— he can’t, he shouldn’t, he has to listen now, and he thinks he maybe understands James more than ever as he listens to his thoughts and his heartbreak all the while feeling like a creepy voyeur. These are not meant for him, and yet he’s grateful to know. At least he can hug James - _or is it Bucky now?_ -, he can murmur meaningless reassurances in his ear, he can hold his pieces together while he falls apart, so completely that’s beyond even Tony’s imagination.

Tony tries to counter James’s doubts, reason with his overflowing thoughts, and he may be doing something very good or very bad at that task because at one point James freezes in Tony’s arms and the mumbling is cut off like a wire, and James goes tense and frees himself from Tony’s embrace. He’s efficient while doing so as always and Tony didn’t expect it, so he can’t even stop James’s withdrawing. James seems like a wild animal as he stares at Tony and Tony’s heartbeat skyrockets and he feels his pulse thundering in his ears and for the first time he’s not sure he’s safe near James. He’s not sure James is with him in any way, and he can hardly breathe.

“Hey,” Tony calls, and he doesn’t know how to address this frightened and feral version of his boyfriend.

Oh, it could've been exciting to discover this side of James in, say, a controlled and fun environment, like a bedroom, probably, but this, this barely contained sorrow and aggression is not fun at all. Tony doesn't want to be on the receiving end, he wants his protective, territorial, gentle James back, he doesn't want to lose him - and yet that's what is happening right now, even if in a completely unexpected way.

Tony doesn't let himself sob out loud, not even if he feels like suffocating.

"Hey, James," he says in the end, and smiles, and holds his hand out toward the other. "You're safe, Terminator."

James doesn't answer, his eyes still scan the room like they're in immediate danger, which is. Perplexing, so to say, and nothing any of them needs right now.

"Jarvis is here, he monitors everything, remember? No threat here."

James's eyes snap on Tony and in the next moment he's sweeping Tony up in his arms and crouches over him. Tony's little yelp is nothing he'd admit to any time in the future, nope. But he gets it as the pass of the worst, because it means whatever hell is in James's head momentarily, his priority is still to save Tony from it, and if _that's_ not heartwarming then he doesn't know what is.

And heartbreaking, too, because it clearly means they'll have to go through this whole revelation mess again once he's back to normal. Which is. Fun-fucking-tastic. Tony sighs. “Talk to me, baby, I can’t read your mind.”

Instead of answering him, James looks up. "System, close everything!" he orders sternly. "Emergency lockdown."

Jarvis, bless his electronic heart, hesitates only a passing second before he does so, and metal panels shifts to their places all around them, turning the workshop into a huge vault. James shudders only a little bit - he's not a fan of any kind of containment, and who could blame him -, but gets himself together almost immediately and looks down at Tony.

"I won't let it happen," he promises, but as he tries to stand up, Tony grabs his clothes with both hands.

"Whoah, stop there, Robocop, explain first, explode later, okay?"

This might sound a bit hypocritical from his mouth, but there's no one else to hear but them, so who cares. And Jarvis will take their secrets to the electrical grave with them. But however warmly does Tony try to smile, the tension doesn't leave James's shoulders.

"Your heart rate has been critically fast for minutes now, Soldier," Jay adds his two cents to the conversation, as a warning. James gives only a nasty look for an answer. Neither are too helpful at the moment.

Tony usually agrees with J's observations, and it's sure that his boyfriend is closer to his Soldier-self than his usual kindness, but he still refuses to address him as that. That time is over, and they're working hard to bury it, so he just won't.

"James," he tries. "What is it you won't let happen?" Even as Tony talks, metal hand touches him and twists his fingers away one by one to get rid of his squeeze on the soft fabric of James's shirt. "James!" he tries louder when his right hand is pushed aside, but to no avail. "Bucky!"

The desperation sweeps into his voice clear as daylight and Tony isn't even sure why he called him that - he knows full well that _that_ never had any positive results in their shared past - or maybe that’s exactly why. Even dissociation or fainting is better than the unidentified determination in James's movements and the promise of violence in his eyes. And it... works, kind of.

James stops, stunned.

But instead of turning off like he did back in the last time, he looks panicked.

"I'm not!" he shouts and tears himself out of Tony's weakened grasp. "I'm not him!" he repeats as he backs away. "He's dead," James sobs as his back hits the metal covering the walls and he curls up around himself.

Tony follows him and crouches next to him, but out of immediate reach - out of being considered dangerous.

“He’s not, and neither is you.”

 _“He’s dead!”_ James snaps, more harsh this time, lifting up his head and his gaze feels like it burns holes into Tony. “The two of them… they died together. I’m not him. That’s not him. _Can’t be Steve._ They turned him— I can’t let him reach you, I have to stop— I’m the only one who’s able to. I shouldn’t endanger you, Tony.”

James looks up, eyes pleading for something - for reassurance, maybe, but Tony is too stunned by this confession to react instantly. Him being speechless is a really rare phenomenon, but James manages to achieve it more often than anybody else, and his silence may have been taken as rejection because James's face crumbles even more. "I'm s... so sorry. I-" he stops, takes a deep breath and shakes himself. It's fucking impressing, watching how he keeps himself functional even when according to every forecast he should've fallen apart even more after Tony's name-slip. "They've thawed him out to be sent after me, I think," James whispers, struggling with the words but determined to explain himself.

Tony is so fucking proud of him. And he's so, so annoyed. How can anyone misread any situation this badly? "No!" he hisses, then softens his tone, because no need of making things worse than they already are. "No, James, it's not... I can promise you, the man I met _is_  Steve Rogers, one and only, and no 'they' involved. He was just lost, nothing else happened." But even as he speaks, he starts to see the pattern, the kind of thinking he learned to understand with so much of their time spent together, the logic behind James's reactions. After all, that's happened to him, his assumption is kind of rational from his viewpoint. He was cryofrozen between missions, and Steve disappeared after his last mission and have been found now and Tony only said he was in ice in the meantime and how could he not foresee that this will happen if he doesn't clarify further, Tony wants to punch himself. "He's a supersoldier, he survived without outer help, and only the arctic cold saved him, no other humans involved, I guarantee you."

But can he? Tony glances up, but Jarvis remains silent. After all his AI's not a mindreader either. Yet. He might add that as a side project of his future inventions list, could come handy sometimes.

"I could do it," James says, slowly and thoughtfully. Tony carefully crawls closer but only while James watches him. "I had spy training - inactive skillset when not needed, doesn’t mean it’s not there. That man might fake it as well."

Tony recognizes resignation in a voice. James tries his damn best to deny any kind of hope from himself, because losing hope on the go would be so much worse than not hoping at all from the start.

"You know I kinda grow up with Cap in the house because Dad adored the shit out of him?" It's a rhetoric question, both of them know the answer all too well. Tony doesn't wait for the scheduled apologies from James, he continues immediately. "And there's a guy, number one Cap fanboy, I bet you SI's yearly income that he knows every trivia and studied every bit of recording of the guy more excessively than I want to imagine. Between the two of us? No way to fake his identity, trust me."

"If I may," Jarvis adds. "I took the liberty of analyzing the new footage of the freshly defrosted Captain and compared them with the old videos. The accuracy is indisputable. I scanned his body language and microexpressions for signs that could confirm your suspicions, and I found none, James. Captain America showed signs of distress, distrust, tactical analysis, and emotional exhaustion, all of which are completely acceptable in his case, but nothing indicates hostile intentions or attempts of deception from his side." Jay is decent like that to add the last part. Tony grimaces.

But it works. James relaxes, if only marginally.

"I think the lockdown is a bit overkill, honey," Tony says. "But we can remain here for a while if it calms you." Tony isn't fond of being locked up either, but it’s his workshop, his element, and it really is safe. Okay, Pepper or Rhodey might freak out if they try to call them and fail, but Jarvis will take care of that, letting them in on the situation.

After the mute nod of acceptance, Tony offers his palm to James. "What about standing up? I know, my heated floor is awesome, but the couch is surely more comfortable."

And Tony greets his boyfriend's agreement as it is: a small victory in itself for both of them. James is really getting better at handling his own emotions and meltdowns with time, if he's already able to receive touch so close to his freaking out, which makes Tony smile proudly at him. They're getting better.

They. Which might turn into something else soon, now that they've established that Steve Rogers is not here to, whatever, kill them in their sleep or drag James back to wherever evil Nazis had him.

The very real possibility of losing James hits Tony again like a train and he chokes on air - how could he forget for even a moment in the first place? How awful is he? Okay, he focused on fending off the actual emotional emergency, but still - he's the genius, he shouldn't just lose focus like that.

He tries to distance himself, to keep himself from James, but James practically pulls Tony into his lap and embraces him into an irresistible cuddling position. Which doesn't help Tony's decision to be the responsible adult in the situation, but he tries his best.

"I guess you want to... see it?" he offers, not sure what it contains yet - old footage and new, Steve Rogers in its world war avenging glory and his confused modern self as well, or whatever James needs. But turns out, James needs none of that, because the mere mention makes him tense up and lose his breath again.

"No!" James yelps, and hugs Tony tighter. "I don't— I'm not..." He shakes his head vehemently, brows furrowed. "I... I trust you. And Jarvis. I have to, right?" he offers a weak, shaky smile, and Tony's heart breaks again a little.

He kisses James, gently, and he tries to pour all of his love for this amazing, amazing man into the gesture.

He can't... he shouldn't be selfish, but for a moment he's thankful for this misunderstanding, because he can still hold James in his arms, he can still snuggle close and bury his face in his boyfriend's neck, because they're still boyfriends, despite the news. Despite his very disturbing reaction to the news. Tony looks up at James's face. "Will you hit something if I ask you to promise it?"

"Promise what, exactly?"

"That you won't try to hunt Cap down. You believe me that he's himself, you won't lash out, won't attack him or do anything similar to that."

"You know I can't promise that! What if I'm right? You can't expect me to—"

"Please," Tony's eyes plead as he kisses James's fingers, lifted to his lips. "Okay, I'd never ask you to not protect yourself or me, but that won't be necessary. Just... trust me on this, please? Try to treat him as you'd do... before?" He hates that his voice turns high-pitched and there's a lump in his throat that makes it hard to speak at all.

James takes deep breaths, Tony loses count at the twelfth. But in the end, James sighs and lifts his free hand in surrender. "I trust you, Tony. I'll do as you wish." He leans in to whisper the last words to Tony's lips. "My Mechanic."

Their kiss is slow and harsh, passionate, and in the end, Tony's breath is completely caught in his lungs, his head is light and the thoughts go on vacation for a while. He can imagine the little hearts literally visible in his eyes as he looks at James.

"Emergency lockdown over."

It's James who commands Jarvis, but Tony nods along with him, and he doesn't protest when James pulls him to his feet.

"I..." James hesitates a bit but continues. "I need to rest. Join me?" His hopeful tone is everything Tony wishes right now, so instead of answering verbally, he starts to guide themselves out of the workshop.

Usually close contact is too overwhelming to James, so when started to spend their nights together they figured out the system of him laying on the floor, Tony on his bed, and them holding each other’s hands as they slept. It was far from ideal, but the only way to prevent some of the night terrors, so Tony had to accept it as a temporary solution. But now, for the first time probably ever, James gets up from his blanket nest as they settle down and joins Tony in bed. Tony stares in question, but James only offers a shy smile, which grows wider when Tony kisses him in happiness. They grab hands as they fall asleep together, clinging to each other like their lives depend on it, and if Tony wakes momentarily from the movements of a supersoldier tugging him closer to his chest, he doesn't protest at all. He also squirms himself even closer and falls back asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. Part one (or should I say phase one? :P) of the whole fic is posted, Steve is officially found! We're moving on with the next chapter tomorrow... :)  
> If you wanna hang out, come talk to me on [my tumblr](http://menatiera.tumblr.com) as well! Also, would you be interested in little 'behind the scene' infos about this fic or some insight about the writing process? I guess I can share some of those if you'd like to hear them!


	5. Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is the longest chapter, be prepared. :) Standard warnings for Steve's standard Man Out of Time mental not-health. He's dealing with his shit, sometimes well, sometimes poorly. PTSD, survivor's guilt and the usual jazz, be prepared if you're sensitive to these issues! :)  
> Gorgeous artwork by araydre, as always! Give her the well earned love too! :)

The future sucks. That's Steve's honest to God opinion. Of course, it's not really the future's fault because it very possibly can be a nice place to live in, but his situation prevents him from seeing it like that.

The first thing Steve asks for (or demands, rather vehemently) is to not accommodate him in the room he woke up because he wants to be among other soldiers. The soundproofing gets on his nerves, he doesn't say. The fortified walls remind him of the Valkyrie, he doesn't say. The possibility of him being stuck there terrifies him, he doesn't say.

So they move him to a barrack somewhere in the suburban area, and Steve doesn't ask for permission to leave the base because he knows he’d be denied. He gets a tutor - a polite, but stern brunette lady, in her late-seventies by her looks, who is maybe half as tall as Steve but with a stance solid like steel and a gaze that could cause forest fires.

"I've got three one-hour long sessions to catch you up, so let's not waste time," she states instead of introducing herself, dropping a few maps and books on the tables, already a printed chart in her left hand while giving out a recommended book list with the right. "First, the end of the war..." And she starts to talk, without any pause or hesitation, for sixty minutes straight, not looking at Steve once while monologuing. She's probably very used to giving lectures because she doesn't need a watch and yet he finishes his last sentence about the Cold War and its macroeconomic effects properly in the fifty-ninth minute. That's the moment she stoops a bit, lets the exhaustion be seen, and meets Steve's gaze. "They won't be happy I told you this much," she says and winks with a wry smile. "I hope to see you tomorrow." And she promptly leaves the room and the barrack, while Steve sits there stunned and speechless. It's a lot to process, especially with that cue. The history the lady draw up is a lot more complicated and nuanced than he expected to hear - not because he's naive but because he doubted anyone would open with an honest and detailed synthesis in his first days in from the cold. He wants to believe the little lady meant what she said in her last sentence, but he's more suspicious than to accept it blindly. He knows he has to check and verify the information given to him by outside sources - so he spends the remaining hours reading through everything he’s got, and then convincing a fellow soldier to lend his pocket computer to him.

He needs a few hours to figure it out and to overcome the difficulties such as how tiny the keys are on the little screen compared to his big fingers, but he manages it somehow, and then he has the whole night to browse the internet. By dawn, he's pretty sure Wikipedia is the best thing humanity invented so far. But the cat videos should have a place in top ten too.

He swallows down the disappointment of Tony not showing up all day and night and convinces himself he doesn't miss the man that badly. He's a grown up, and he's Captain America. He can go on alone if he has to.

The brunette lady doesn’t show up the next day, but a broad agent with a SHIELD badge in an unfitting suit comes instead and talks with the backup of a powerpoint presentation. A day ago Steve would've been amazed by the animated little projection, but with a functioning phone and internet connection in his pocket, he's not that impressed anymore.

(The fellow soldier’s mom is an added bonus, she's calming to chat with and she reassured Steve that it's very nice of his boy Riley to lend him the device, she's proud of him and he always had a heart of gold and of course she can wait a few days, tell it to Riley as well if he demands the phone back before Steve’s own one arrives, but Steve sounds like a very polite boy too so if he feels alone they can talk anytime... and that's how Steve ended up having an hour long talk with the kind lady from Iowa, called Ruth, and learned a lot about a peaceful life of corn farming. It's the only meaningful conversation he managed to have with anyone in this century so far, apart from Tony.)

Steve never felt so out of place before, not even when he was a thousand pounds solid rage and righteousness packed into ninety pounds of fragile flesh and bones. Not even when he was the secretly queer Irish immigrant kid in a world that treated all of these characteristics as something worthy of punishment. Not even in the heat of the greatest war while raiding a secret evil base with the determination to die instead of letting them take his friend. Not even when he kissed goodbye to the girl he could've lived his life with, given better circumstances. At least then he knew what he was dealing with. Now... he doesn't really know.

He's lonely. That's an objective fact, one which he's intensely aware of and no amount of cute kittens can ease. And he knows he can't really do jack about it, because, well, most of his friends are dead and the ones who are not grew old without him. It's not like he can show up in their lives anymore, and he's not even sure if him being alive is anything people are allowed knowing about - out of SHIELD HQ, of course. The ones who were once important to Steve had a lifetime to mourn and forget him, but Steve didn't. He went to a war to serve his country and returned to the heartland only to find it burned and buried, unreachable through layers and layers of years, the inexorable passing of time he missed out.

While he was sleeping, everything changed.

Except it didn't - not really. There are things, like neon advertising or automatic doors that are completely alien, but those are the least disturbing. The bigger problem is, if he squints his eyes and stands a few feet away, things seem much too similar. When he wakes up in the room SHIELD placed him in one of their barracks, Steve needs minutes to remember where is he and why is he looking up at a ceiling instead of a tent. When he opens the wardrobe - how insane that he has one in the first place, and it's full? -, the clothes in it could’ve been almost normal in the past too. When he meets people in the corridors, they could be any fellow soldiers from the war, except a bit cleaner. But these are not the trenches anyway. The buildings are bigger, and more well-lit and a bit modern, but not enough to scream _'FUTURE'_. The shapes, the generalities are the same. The cars are more streamlined, but they still run in the streets and not in the air. People don't have visible technological implants in them, like those science fiction books predicted, though at least every second person wears glasses. People walk real dogs, not robot ones. The food doesn't come in pills. It might even be better than Steve remembered it from before, no need of boiling everything.

This strange mixture of old and new, familiar and alien makes Steve even more tense. He kind of wishes if he'd woken up a few more decades later. Then he wouldn't need to consciously make the decision of _not_ meeting the surviving members of his unit every day. (It's better this way for them, but so much harder for him.) Then he wouldn't need to face a world sometimes painfully resembling his own, only to be reminded how much it changed seconds later.

Going on is so fucking hard. Getting up each morning is so fucking hard. Steve is not sure if there's anything on his schedule he can wait for... except for one thing, or more precisely one person.

Tony Stark.

But of course Tony can't be with him much, and Steve'd never dream of asking more time than he can spare. Tony has a life of his own - something Steve can't say of himself -, and it wouldn't be fair of him to ask more.

Steve understands because he has to, but it doesn't stop him from secretly wishing for more.

And the absence makes Steve even more enthusiastic when Tony shows up on the third day of him being in the future. He's chatting with Ruth on the phone when he hears Tony talking, his voice standing out among the sounds his ears has gotten slowly used to by now, and he excuses himself hastily. He's not sure why his heart pounds so fast in an instant or why he has the urge to adjust his clothes that still feels a bit out of place and unfitting. Then he steps out of his room and into the warm sunlight.

Tony, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and a jacket, stands next to a car. Steve didn't look up brands yet but he bets it's an expensive one, given how ostentatious it is, not matching to the straightforward military environment at all. Tony has a little crowd around him, soldiers awed by his presence, one of them shaking his hand enthusiastically, few others taking selfies while Tony smiles and jokes with them. Steve halts for a full minute just to watch, to soak up the casualness of the little gathering, how relaxed Tony seems to be with people - the complete opposite of Steve's awkwardness. Tony pops up his elbows on the top of his car and looks up and despite the tinted glasses, Steve can feel the exact moment his gaze finds Steve. It's electrifying to be even on the border of Tony's attention, not to mention at the center of it.

Tony takes off the glasses with a quick move and smiles to Steve. "Hey there, Capsicle, come!" he invites brightly, and Steve's on the move before he realizes that instead of taking the roundabout toward the stairs, he leaps over the railing of the open corridor and jumps right to the court from the second floor.

No wonder he gets weird looks, and he tries to smile back but it probably turns out totally awkward as well. At least he's able to walk there instead of running like an enthusiastic puppy, and his ears and face burn from the embarrassment.

"Hi, Tony," he waves his greeting and then promptly looks at his own feet to avoid the eyes of the soldiers. Not that it counts too much at this point, he can hear the barely repressed snicker from someone, the quiet whispering from another and can feel the stunned, respectful stares from the rest, but he refuses to acknowledge and identify the sources. Riley’s there - the real owner of Steve's phone. He smiles, pats Steve’s back in a manner that hasn’t changed since the forties - either as greeting or leave-taking or both as he wanders away to his business.

Tony doesn't care about the soldiers anymore. He only stares at Steve, and his hands fly through the air, gesticulating heatedly as he speaks.

"Great, you're here! Now tell me, did these morons give you a proper ride so far? No? I guessed so. Listen, among the many wonders of the new century is the speed we're able to achieve now, even as civilians, don't you glare at me, Timothy, just because you're a pilot you don't have the authority to dismiss sports cars." Of course he already knows these people by first name and profession or at least unit, having been here only for three minutes. And Steve, who is living in the base, barely knows the surname of a handful of them. But before he would be able to say a word, Tony talks some more. "So here's the deal, get into this beauty, and I’ll show you why men nowadays love to drive. Don't worry, we have lots of empty roads ahead of us if you want to give it a try yourself," he winks in the end and to the flick of his fingers the doors of the car open up.

Steve doesn't hesitate to accept the invite, but as he moves forward one of the soldiers don't step aside.

"Sir, I don't think that's..." he starts, worried.

"It totally _is_ allowed," Tony places himself between the kid and Steve in a smooth motion as he pushes himself away from the car. "Because he's not cleared to active duty yet and he's a rightful citizen like anyone else here so he's allowed to be wherever he wants to be in our beloved land of the free, right, Jimmy?" he smiles brightly. "Forbidding him to leave without any proper reason would be like, illegal imprisonment or something, don't you think?" he plays dumb, and the soldier has no other option than to step aside.

Steve gets in the car immediately, though he has to stir and position himself for a while. The seat is low and the car is tiny. "Gentlemen, it was a pleasure, but I have a centenarian to show some fun," Tony says goodbye to the people, then jumps in and starts the engine without any hesitation.

The barrier of the front gate rises in front of them before the operator has a chance to check them out.

"Am I really allowed to leave the barracks?" Steve asks, out of curiosity. He had the impression that SHIELD wants him close.

"Dunno, don't care," Tony shrugs. “Probably not,” he adds, and they both end up grinning.

The car is, in fact, fast - faster than Steve ever imagined cars to get, if the peek to the dashboard saying over 150 mph is true. Steve sits back and sighs, suddenly relieved to be out of that place, to be in the presence of Tony instead, and he looks out the window to watch the houses flew by and change to more open spaces.

“How are you adjusting to the new place, caveman?” Tony asks straightforward after half a minute of landscape-enjoyment. It doesn't need elaboration that he's not speaking about the barracks, but the situation in general, yet Steve entertains the idea to answer so. No need to complain too much, after all... but it wouldn't be fair and honest, and Tony's the only one he wants to be honest with.

"Working on it," Steve says, and holds up the phone. "I borrowed this and it helps a lot. SHIELD sent some people to give me history lessons and I read a lot to fill out the gaps."

"I bet Nicky let you have lots of gasps," Tony snorts. "I'll give you a list of things you'll have to catch up with. No boring stuff, but the fun kind. Have you seen some good movies? We have awesome movies and series, oh, I know, Doctor Who is a must for you, it's educational anyway and British and you can start with the classic episodes.”

“I don’t think that’s the most impo—” Steve tries to butt in while pocketing the phone again, but Tony seemingly doesn’t even hear him.

“And music! And tech! Do you want a bike? I could totally design a new weaponized motorbike for you, don't go on any missions without me giving you proper gear beforehand, promise me, Sleeping Beauty, repeat after me!"

"I'm not going on missions before you give me gear," Steve parrots obediently with a magnificent roll of his eyes. "Except I’m not planning on going on any missions at all."

Tony hits the breaks with full force.

Luckily they're on an abandoned road at the moment, because Steve didn't expect the stop, and his momentum sends him flying forward through the windscreen. He has time only to whip his arms up around his head, so instead of his face it’s his forearms that get the most of the shattered glass, and he turns in the air without conscious thought, moved by reflexes to roll out his fall and not smash his skull or spine on the concrete.

Once he stops, he stares up at the sky for a moment to process what happened.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Tony shouts from behind. "Why the hell weren’t you wearing your seatbelt?! Oh my God, I killed Captain America, Dad will strangle me in the afterlife after Fury’ll have killed me. Steve, please, say something."

Steve sits up slowly and by the time he's done with it Tony is at his side, panicking and talking without taking breaths between the words.

"I'm... okay," Steve offers, and he stretches out his arms to keep them away from himself while he observes the damage.

“Jesus, I'm an idiot, I didn't even check you, I never imagined you're like the anti-seatbelt idiots, fuck, Rogers, if you're in a car you fasten your seatbelt, that's a rule, that's literally the first thing to do!"

It hurts like hell, but only because the injuries are not too serious. He knows by experience that minor injuries feel worse than the bigger wounds, and he can go on without barely any disturbance with life-threatening ones. Which is useful in a war, but apparently annoying in a car accident. He was really, really lucky though. He's pretty sure at this speed he'd be dead without the serum after this accident, but thanks to it he was able to react in time to avoid major damage, and also he'll heal completely within hours. He feels sore limbs and his heart pounding belatedly as adrenaline rushes his system now.

"Jarvis, where is the nearest hospital, or, dunno, does he even have papers to check in one of them? I can't go back to the base with him like this, the first soldier will shoot me for hurting Captain America. Maybe in the suit, that could work out, what if I fly him home in a suit? What do you mean it's inappropriate to carry Cap bridal style? Don't mess with me, buddy, he's bleeding!"

"Uhm, hello, I'm right here," Steve waves his fingers in front of Tony who seemingly talks to no one. Or to his wristwatch. Steve's not sure, though he thinks he recognizes the name Jarvis. He was Howard's... butler, if he remembers correctly, but also his friend. Or something like that. So he probably misheard it. "I'm okay, Tony, I've had way worse than a few splinters in me."

Tony crouches next to him, and his hand hovers over him, but doesn't dare to touch. Steve swallows down a pulsating wave of pain and offers a smile, however weak it might seem. Being hurt is, at least, familiar: the same in the new century as in the old one.

"I'm already healing," Steve says and he realizes he used his Captain voice, the one he uses when commanding his men or reporting to senior officers. He doesn't change it, though, not yet at least. "I need to get the shards out. I hope you can help me with that?"

"I don't have anything with me to disinfect the wounds," Tony counters, his cheerful voice and endless babbling is gone, and to Steve's utter surprise he already seems totally focused on the task.

"The serum doesn't let me be sick, so I don't need it. But if I wait too much, the wounds will close with the objects still in them and then I'd have to reopen them for removal. I'd skip that part if possible." Experiencing that with a Hydra knife was enough to teach him a lesson: remove small objects from his wounds as soon as possible is a must with serum-enhanced genetics, no matter what a field medic says.

Tony nods along. "Okay, I get it." He takes his jacket off and unfolds it on the ground, then he gets his shirt down as well, and he tears the fabric into strips, and Steve suddenly has to swallow a lot, because _holy shit how can a man be this gorgeous_ , especially while he's covering his hand with the fabric to ensure he won't cut himself with glass. It takes a moment for gaze to wander to the center of Tony’s chest, where is… where something beautiful is. Steve stares in awe as some futuristic device pulses with blue light.

Tony’s hands stop, and Steve realizes his mistake. What he finds beautiful is sitting deep in the man’s chest, and him staring at it is probably as rude as if he’d be staring at a missing limb.

He averts his gaze immediately and awkwardly offers his own right arm to Tony for taking the shards out, while simultaneously Steve'll pick the glass out from his left. If Steve’s careful, they can work at the same time. It seems like a good plan, and also it’ll distract his thoughts from the glowing light of Tony’s chest.

"I think we could use your shirt as bandage," Tony offers quietly, eyes on the task, and Steve's grateful for it because he starts to blush again.

"After we finished, if it's still needed," he answers with a deep breath, and he only hopes Tony takes it as a preparation for the upcoming pain, instead of how it’s actually because he's barely able to speak while the other man is half naked next to him.

They're fast and efficient, and Tony doesn't seem shy or bothered at all.

"Let me tell you, this is NOT how I plan first dates to go," Tony jokes while his hands work steadily. According to his Wikipedia page, which is among the longest ones Steve encountered in the past days and is managed by a pack of passionate Iron Man fans, Tony Stark is not a theoretical kind of genius, but the one who also builds all his inventions by himself, or with minimal help of others, and it shows. Once he has the chance to actually do something with his hands, it's like he's a different man. Still himself - still kind and handsome and all -, but he gets a new kind of intensity, the focused attention practically radiating from him.

It makes Steve's hand shake, and Tony notices it.

"You won't go into shock by a little car accident, will you?" he asks, worry filtering through the control in his voice.

"It's really not that serious," Steve states, but he doesn't elaborate the reason of his state. They gather the shards on Tony's jacket, and by the time they're close to finishing, they have to rip out the glass that started to get attached to the flesh growing back almost visibly.

"Amazing," Tony whispers. "I've never seen anything like this."

"Neither have I," Steve has to confess, though he usually doesn't like to share any details about his enhancement. "I guess my body has a lot of fuel to burn right now."

"You mean what's left of your few decades-long nap?"

"Partly." Steve shrugs, and regrets it immediately as it tears the recently grabbed shred from Tony’s hand and moves it deeper to the wound. "I'm well rested, sure, but also well fed. I can't remember any time in my life when I had as much food as I'm having in the future."

Tony glances up. "That sounds hard. I can't imagine what..."

"It's in the past long passed, right?" Steve shrugs again, repeating the same mistake, because he's an idiot.

"Still." Tony insists, and yanks the last piece of glass from its place. "I promise, Cap, the future is not bad. Not half as much as you might think now. You'll get used to it and you'll even like it."

"If you say so." But Steve doesn't feel confident and he doesn't try to hide it. He just lost his whole world - what was left of it, anyway, after Bucky's fall - three days ago, so he's pretty sure he deserves the time to mourn it. Because it hurts, so fucking much that he wakes at night gasping for air, so fucking much that he sometimes wonders if he'll be able to stand up and go forward after everything. But he has no choice. They made him wake up, he can't go back, he can't undo his actions, he can't get back his little apartment with Bucky and his dance with Peggy and the Sunday lunches with the Barneses and the familial teasing of the Howlers and...

He takes a deep breath again. Going forward it is.

It feels like Tony's stare is tearing new holes through him.

"What if I said you didn't lose everything?"

The question comes out of the blue and Steve doesn't lift his eyes to meet Tony's. "I'd say that's kind of you, but not necessary. I can deal with reality."

"No, I mean it," Tony insists, which only makes Steve's chest feel more hollow than ever. "What if I say there are things the future holds for you, maybe surprises connected to your past?"

Instead of answering, Steve takes off his shirt and starts to wipe the blood from his arms while examining the damage and wills himself not to cry. Tony probably tries to help, but it results in the opposite. Steve wants to crawl away into a hole, curl up and sob, he wants Bucky to wrap his hands around him like he did countless times once, he wants to be in a war-torn Europe and undo that fucking mission that changed everything.

Instead he sits on an abandoned road and dries his own blood off and stares at the red pieces of the former windscreen, while Tony goes on babbling more now like he needs to move his mouth the moment his hands rest idly.

"I mean it, Capsicle, just... stretch your imagination, like, you'd be happy to have someone back from your past, even if they're not like they were once, but the point is the principle? If they'd be still just as loveable as they were once, and they’d care for you deeply? How does that sound?"

Steve jumps to his feet and feels dizzy. "You talk like you already have a candidate to step out of a time machine," he spits out, more bitter than he planned. "What, you'll say SHIELD and the internet forgot to mention time machines exist?" How fucking convenient that would be. And how pathetic is it that he searched it at the first night he got the phone.

He'd go back if he could, if it was possible. He'd stop Bucky's fall, and yeah, his old self probably should go down with the Valkyrie - he did the right thing there, he's still sure of that, but if he could copy this awoken version of himself and paste it to any time, he'd go back and change things, maybe he could prevent even Azzano...

And that's why it's such a dangerous road even to think about it. Because he knows himself, he knows his own flaws better than anybody - he's too stubborn for his own good, and he'd not care about the consequences if it came to saving Bucky, if it came to doing the right thing. He would be ready to burn Hydra down before it even came to life, even before they got the chance to commit their unspeakable crimes, and Bucky wouldn't even need to ship out to a war in the first place, he and the old Steve could live happily in their cheap Brooklyn apartment...

And yeah, that's how Steve's little thought experiment usually goes from 'eliminate his current misery' to 'fuck up the space-time continuum and probably end the world out of good intentions' within seconds. So. Time traveling is definitely not his thing.

Except he fucking ended up in the future anyhow.

“No, no time machines, but thanks for giving me ideas,” he hears Tony from somewhat distance, and he bites his lips to stop the trembling.

“So I have no one,” he concludes. _But thanks for the mental images_ , he manages to suppress.

“But, really… just... “ Tony stutters and trails off and falls silent, for the first time as far as Steve’s known him. “Have faith, Steve?” It’s more of a question than a statement. And it surely is pathetic, because if that's the best the certified genius of this era could offer to him, then Steve is clearly out of his luck.

Steve laughs. It’s a painful, ugly sound even to his own ears. “‘m not really a believer,” he snorts. “Not after everything.”

“Well, you should be, you are a miracle of science, if they achieved the super soldier serum seventy years ago, we might as well come up for a solution to your problems, don’t you think?”

“Sure. Call me if you can resurrect the dead,” he sulks, and he’s aware of it, but he can’t help it. He starts to walk away, blindly. “Can we go back now?” He wonders how everything turned to shit so fast. They had a great time in the beginning, and now Tony is upset and Steve is barely keeping it together.

"No." Tony sounds sure suddenly. "Get in the car."

Steve turns around to face him. "I wanna go back, Tony."

"No, you don't," Tony waves. "You just want to get out of this situation, so we're getting out of here, and I'm taking you somewhere, and you'll thank me eventually," he states confidently.

Steve's too tired to argue, but he doubts that. Tony waits for him next to the car, and examines the windscreen critically. "Could you kick the remnants out for me, please, Big Guy?"

Steve does, then promptly slumps down on his seat, stares out of the window and tries to tune out Tony's re-starting babbling, the demonstrative movement of plugging in his and Steve's so-called seatbelt, and the driving wind as well. He succeeds only marginally, but he gives his damn best to try.

***

The thing is, Tony's mansion looks impressive from the outside, given its size and because it's clearly an accommodation for a wealthy person, but other than that it's probably like a house of any billionaire. (Steve still can't really comprehend there is that much money _existing_ in the world at all, let alone in one person's metaphorical hands.) But the _inside_. The thing is, Tony's house on the inside screams 'FUTURE' louder than any sci-fi novel and comic book could've predicted. A familiar voice greets them as they lay a foot inside and Tony immediately goes on to a long rant about artificial intelligence and how it works and what it does and Steve's baffled from the first moment, but the most he's able to get out of the words it that the house is alive somehow and has its own consciousness? And he's not sure if he wants to laugh, or cry, or scream in rage, but none of that would help how tight his chest feels. He thought stepping into a place like this would be easier than dealing with the harsh reality, but it's not. It's still a weird ass world with not enough grip to hold onto it, and Tony's constant rambling in the background is probably the only thing that anchors him to the moment, the only thing that stops him from lifting up from the ground and floating to the air and disappearing somewhere in the sky like a lost balloon. And let's be real, the fact that he sees himself as a kid's lost toy probably means he's losing his mind here, but he can't help it.

He reaches for the pocket computer, for no particular reason, and his heart skips a beat or two as he realizes his fingers touch shards instead of a solid rectangle.

The phone is broken. The shattered screen looks like it has a spider's web on it at first, but as Steve pokes it with his finger trying to light it up, the device gives up and falls to four more or less even pieces. It's broken into half in the middle, and the screen has pelted off from them. Steve's far from an engineer, but he'd doubt it could be repaired... and he chokes on air as he realizes he lost his connection to Ruth, he has to explain himself to Riley, and he doesn't know how to access the internet without the device and...

"Hey, hey, soldier, don't fall apart, focus on me!"

Tony is at his side as Steve has his asthma attack and— no, that's not right. He doesn't have asthma attacks anymore, the serum took care of that - it took care of Steve too - made him live when he wanted to die without Bucky - did the serum finally give up on helping its host? That sounds wrong, the serum is not a damned intelligent thing (but maybe if a house can have consciousness then a serum can too?), it's in his bones and blood and cells and it changed Steve, fucking God himself created Steve to be a failure and the serum tried to fight that but nothing could stop Steve from being a failure, he couldn't save Bucky, he couldn't even take Peggy to that fucking dance she'd deserve, and he couldn't die when he should've.

It's so strange. He behaved himself so well - didn't piss off his officers, didn't argue with them, didn't break down listening about history and mistakes and changes. He endured everything with a straight spine and a straight face, because he had to, because what else to do in a shitty situation? Giving up was never his style. But this tiny little thing, a broken electronic device that connected him to the only real and heartwarming human interaction, being lost, _that's_ what pushes him over the edge in a second. Maybe it's human nature that people are more threatened by kindness than by loss and violence - that everyone can handle the hardships better than the things that make them smile. Or is it just Steve? Is it just his everyday life, all the time, one disaster after the other, and he clings so much to the little bright spots which then are able to break him eventually? Steve's not sure and he won't find out now, in the middle of _this_ , whatever it is.

He wants to scream. He wants shriek like a banshee until no one will hear him screaming through their torn eardrums. He wants to rip the tiles off of the floor with his bare hands until his fingers bleed and until they hurt enough to dull the ache in his heart. He wants...

He wants this nightmare to end, to be home safe and sound, but home is not a place and his home doesn't exist anymore and he wants to cry, but also he never wants to be weak and pathetic again.

But Tony's voice anchors him.

His lungs feel too tight to survive without enough oxygen, but it's not asthma - which is good, because he never knew what to do with an asthma attack even back in those times, unless to wait until it passes, even if that meant days spent out of breath, and he would be out of ideas now as well.

He hears Tony, but understanding his words is not a priority right now. Steve has to keep himself together somehow, has to collect his own pieces and meld them into one again to go on. He looks up, the voice recoiling in his ear, reaching through his nerves, settling in his guts, while he starts to count what he sees.

One: an artificial waterfall sprinkling waterdrops around, making the air more humid, the sound of its rhythm dulled now by his own beating heart and Tony's mumblings, but the lights play with the drops and the little pond looks like it has snakes made out of light constantly moving under the surface. Two: couches, a dulled shade of creamy white. Three: pieces of other furniture: the biggest television Steve's ever seen is displayed on a far wall. (It's at least thirty feet away, making this the biggest room he has been in anyone's house - _not_ counting endless hangars of military bases now, because that comparison would be stupid, right?) A little table, knee-height, with sparkly colorful balls of decoration in a silvery plate. Plus there's a rug, and Steve kinda wishes to sink his toes into it because it seems like the softest thing ever and feeling that would probably be really nice. Four: walls, even if one is hidden behind falling water and one is made of glass, but that still counts as well, doesn't it? The remaining ones are grey, covered with what looks like some kind of stone - marble, maybe, at least it resembles the statues Steve and the Howlies rescued during the liberation of some french castle. Five is for... Steve can't find five of anything, so he counts his fingers on his right hand as he clenches and unclenches them rhythmically, because that always helped. His skin is clean, not calloused like many soldiers’ and workers’. _Artistic_ , Peggy said, and Steve's not sure by now if she meant it or she just saw him drawing and wanted to be kind and comforting to someone stuck in the trenches and behind enemy lines more often than not. (He's sure Bucky loved his hands, though, he liked to hold it in his big, warm palms and smile and he always said he should take care of his hands to not scar them, and Steve argued that he wanted to have the scars that proved he was useful and working, and they argued about it all the times and Steve would die to have one of those annoying conversations back right now.)

By this thought, his breaths are normal again, coming evenly. He doesn't need to list things based on other senses now, and Steve takes a deep breath and still stares at his right hand as he mutters, "I broke his phone."

Tony looks confused for only a passing second before he smiles. "That's all the problem?"

Steve has to look at him, and he's finally able to focus. Tony stayed right next to him all through this... whatever this was, and light pours in through the windows from behind him, and for a moment Steve can't think anything else than that Tony's beautiful and he wants to draw him some day.

Then the world rushes back to his still slightly spinning head. "It's... I just borrowed it, and now it's broken," he tries to explain.

"Pal, you're in the best place with that problem," Tony still smiles like everything in the world is alright. "It's really not something worth having a breakdown over. But, hey, no judgment from here," he raises his hands immediately, palms out.

Steve bites his tongue before he'd reply something stupid like it’s the device that’s broken, not him. It's probably just one of those modern expressions he didn't have time to catch up with yet. He briefly wonders if Tony would be this relaxed if he had the faintest idea how much anger Steve bottles up all the time and how close he’s just been to lose control. He still feels miserable though, but at least hope sparkles in him now. He wants to hug Tony, because apparently his emotional state has more ups and downs than the Cyclone had once, he wants to thank him, he wants to express how much all of this means to him - but he's not sure if it's appropriate behaviour in this century or not, and he doesn't want to cause discomfort. So he stays put, and he hopes his expression is able to transfer the message how grateful he feels.

"Follow me," Tony orders.

***

Tony's workshop is every nerd's dream.

Steve looks around for a moment, but then he has to stare on his own feet and focus on his breathing to steady himself because his first thought is Bucky, and how much he'd love this place. Back in their days, Howard and Bucky loved to spend their time together in some hastily constructed workshops, geeking out about Hydra equipment or experimenting with new gears and weapons. Howard promised not only a job to Bucky ( _“after we've won this bloody war,”_ he grumbled often), but to give him his own workshop, custom built for Bucky's wishes, no matter how crazy they are.

The moment they are entering the workshop, the garage door at the far end is opening up and all Steve's able to see are the tail lights of a car before it shuts. Steve wants to ask about it, but as he turns to Tony, he looks stricken and his face is pale, his left foot frozen in air mid-step, and for a moment he looks like he can barely breathe himself. But the second passes and Tony shakes his head and he's back to his usual, chatty and charming self. The act is so perfect Steve has to check twice that he didn't just imagine the visible discomfort, but he's sure in what he saw. He'd be curious who was the mystery guest who left the workshop the moment they entered - but it would be rude to ask uninvited, and nothing in Tony's behavior and the hard work he puts into pretending everything is all right indicates a question would be welcomed.

At least this little interlude helps him to deal with the environment.

It's as if being on an alien planet. The place is well-lit and streamlined, everything is in order but not in a military style. It has the hints of chaos in it, shows a system that is crafted for someone's own purposes and needs the effort to be understood by anyone else. It takes the sterility of the place away and gives a warm, homely feeling instead. The elegant shapes indicate wealth. The chrome surfaces everywhere make Steve's head spin a little with their reflectivity. He has no idea how anyone could focus in an environment like this that offers new visual inputs every time someone so much as move their head.

The robots are strange. Steve's glad they only greet Tony with rather a vehemence and keep distance from him. Which is probably better for everyone.

Steve sits next to Tony in silence while the other man works and talks. He's focused on watching him, the way the muscles shifts under his skin, the calm concentration on his face, the quiet confidence he radiates while he's in his own element. Tony asked Steve if he'd like to listen to some music, but accepted when Steve declined the offer. Steve is grateful for that too, because this way nothing interrupts his thoughts as he listens to the talking and watches the genius. Because he is one, that's clear even for him, and not because others claim it. Neither because he needs mere minutes to come up with the proper solution for the situation at hand - namely, to order a new phone, the exact replica of the broken one, while he manages to save every piece of data from the lost device and transfer it later to the new one. "With replacement piece parts it would be like two minutes to weld this thing into one again, but even I can't make damage like this invisible, so your friend deserves a new one. It's more cost-effective, too, let's be real here. See, a phone is not really valuable for the materials, because every other child could replicate that, but what's inside the storage. The pictures, the music downloaded, the saved texts, and so on, that's what's worth saving. So I get that out from its memory. It's a bit damaged, but that can be cured," Tony smiles and explains and at first he's too technological, but after Steve asks a few pointed questions, he settles in a language that's mostly understandable. Even so that he starts to explain more and more, not only the task at hand but the mechanism of electronic devices in general, some insight into the technological history and the latest developments that are new to modern people as well, not just to Steve. (It's just comforting to know that tech can confuse ordinary people too, sometimes.)

Tony is fascinating to listen to and his excitement is beautiful. Steve itches for a sketchbook. It's the first time in the future he gets that restless urge that nags him to create. The curve of Tony's nape seems like visual poetry as he leans over the workbench, and Steve's throat goes dry at the other parts, from the tight pants on the muscular frame to the soft locks of his hair. He wants to touch them so badly. He sits with his hands in his lap and tries his best to steer his thoughts away from the image of him burying his fingers into Tony's hair. It's not right, and the uncomfortable feeling on his skin is probably the warning of his conscience. He should behave himself, especially since he owes so much to Tony already.

Steve stays silent, until the very end of the afternoon, when Tony presents him with a new phone and a promise of a replacement one by next morning.

“Thank you so much, Tony, I can’t even—“ Steve starts to tell, but his throat gets hoarse and his eyes teary at the generosity and he can’t finish.

Tony watches him with wide eyes and quickly takes two steps back. “It’s just a phone,” he shrugs.

“Not to me,” Steve manages to say and takes a step forward, not sure what to do. The urge to hug Tony is strong again, but as he moves, Tony takes another step back, enough for Steve to realize the situation and stop, his face morphing into some expression of regret. He didn’t want to… threaten Tony, but somehow he managed, it seems.

Tony catches himself too. Steve can’t read his expression, but he can see the moment he decides on something and the decision helps him find his peace immediately. His face brightens up.

“Okay, that settles it. You're too roughed up to stay out of my sight, Capsicle, from now on consider yourself living here, and we'll get you through this time change, okay?” Tony asks, and it's enough to knock the air out of Steve's lungs again, but instead of painful it's just shocking. He's pretty sure Tony doesn't mean it. Pretty sure. But not completely.

It's not like he plans to accept, anyway.

He’ll have to go back to the base soon, anyway.

And until that Steve just doesn’t want to argue with Tony. He wonders when did he become this obedient and how long will it last, but he stays silent.

***

Okay, the truth is, Tony acts weirdly. Maybe not weirdly on a modern-people-scale (and how would Steve know that), but in his book, Tony is definitely one of a kind, even more extreme in some ways than Howard. Who was the least understandable man around Steve during the forties and he led America’s first interracial army unit, a group of men called Howling Commandos, so that’s saying something. But Tony is good kind of weird, if that even makes any sense.

He's not sure why Tony became so important, so crucial to him - only that it's not because of his surname. Tony surely has some similarities to Howard: his excitement over new discoveries, his natural talent for inventions and engineering stuff, the shape of his cheekbones and the color of his hair. But the list more or less ends there and Tony's personality shines through all of these boring comparisons. Every time Steve's with him he feels like he's able to breathe fresh air after so much time spent in a frowsy place. The man's presence radiates that kind of warmth that is able to battle the remnant chill of the ice clung to his bones. His gaze makes Steve straighten his spine and lighten his steps, his touch makes his heartbeat that constantly feels elevated slow down to a normal pace. Tony shines in the midst of other people like a comet in the night sky, and him being near makes everything bearable somehow.

Even the loss. Even the news. Even the... well, everything, really.

Also, as it turns out, he’s cute.

The morning after Steve watches in disbelieving awe as Tony stumbles upon a couch, a table and even the rug in the barely furnished (it’s called minimalistic, according to the internet, and apparently in the future having less is a privilege of the rich somehow) living room while going to the kitchen at early morning. Because one, sleeping is apparently not Tony’s forte, and two, he seemingly can’t function without coffee. He stares at the spoon in his hand long, like he tries to figure out what to do with it, until there’s a little beeping sound from the coffee maker. Tony pours a mug for himself and drowns it with big gulps, then he sighs. “Ouch. Hot,” then he pours another one. At least he puts sugar into it this time.

He turns around, and he does jump a little bit at the sight of Steve leaning to the counter five steps away from him, but not enough to spill his precious drink. “Whoa,” Tony croaks. “Been there since…?”

“A while,” he confesses and smiles. Steve lifts his mug to his lips, and Tony mimics his movement, so Steve stops.

“You should mix it up,” he suggests and explains after the confused look, “the sugar in your coffee.”

“Oh. Right.”

The spoon clinks on the cup and Tony manages to be mute for more than two minutes, which is probably a new personal record for him. The silence is not uncomfortable, though, and Steve feels more at ease here and now than he has once since he woke up at SHIELD. Even though he still feels like someone’s constantly watching him: his skin prickles with the sensation of being in the center of someone’s attention.

Tony explained Jarvis while repaired the phone’s data yesterday.

Knowing the source of the feeling didn’t help with it, though.

***

Steve spends most of the first, and then the second day in the workshop, because Tony is there, and Tony allowed it and he doesn’t mind someone else’s presence.

Tony is not really aware of his presence anyway, as far as Steve can tell, at least most of the time. He’s too focused on his tasks, on his inventions.

Steve figures out the differences on his new phone, adjusts himself to it and reads further while having half of his senses and attention on Tony. The internet offers more material than a library did in Steve’s time, though he’s not convinced about the credibility of everything. He found a website that claims the Earth is flat, for example, and one that swears it’s hollow and has its own world inside with flora and fauna and even with a little sun? Both of these seem pretty far-fetched. Not like he could dismiss the ideas immediately without further research, because he’d dismiss Moon landing too if he’d not heard about it in his history lesson first.

But apparently many people are on the same platform and there are at least a dozen conspiracy theories in connection with the Moon landing, too. (The video of it is awesome, though.) Future people are even more mistrustful than their predecessors. Steve starts to think he’ll have information backlash soon and he’ll really need someone to trust and rely on, otherwise he’ll go crazy.

He found several pages about climate change (that appears to be a huge problem nowadays), and one that denied its existence at all. He got curious and explored a bit further into the comment sections and discovered new depths of human stupidity. (Impressive, given that he came from the time when most men’s favorite activity was to actively try to kill each other.) Really, literal strangers who don’t even know who they’re talking to are ready to scream bloody murder at each other – all the while sometimes not being able to put together two coherent sentences at the same time about the topic of discussion.

All in all, Steve’s impressed, if a little bit overwhelmed.

Tony does his engineering thing, whatever it is – something in connection with his life-size armor-statues that Steve’s too polite to ask about but he’s more or less dying inside of curiosity –, and sometimes he talks to himself. Or, more often, to his computer. And Jarvis answers, of course.

At first it’s distressing, when he doesn’t understand how Tony’s able to keep a dead man’s memory this close to him, but by the end of the day, Steve too finds the familiar voice soothing instead. If he closes his eyes, he can imagine it’s the Jarvis he remembers from the two or three times they met, the polite yet witty British man with a shy smile on his face. It helps him to connect with himself – with the one he’d been before everything bad happened, before Bucky fell and he died. It helps him feel like he’s able to root himself into this new era if he has handrails like this.

***

“How’re your injuries?” Tony asks while they have dinner. Takeout thai, while sitting on the couch, Tony has his legs tucked under and Steve is spreading out more comfortably than he’d thought possible a few days ago.

“Healed,” Steve shrugs and stretches out his arm to show the pink scars. They’ll fade within days, too, and all he feels by now is the itching of cells stitching themselves together.

“Amazing,” Tony examines it and he lightly traces a finger on one of the marks. “You heal even faster…” He trails off before he could finish the sentence, the meal is completely forgotten as Tony’s brows knit together, then he jumps to his feet and rushes back to the workshop without any explanation.

Steve finishes his meal alone, and he can’t ignore the tightness in his chest and the way his appetite disappears as soon as Tony’s out of the room.

***

 _" ~~Dear~~_ _Bucky,_

_this is probably stupid. But Ruth suggested it so I'm doing anyway. It's not like I didn't do much more idiotic things, right? You'd probably roll your eyes on my by now, if you'd be here. ~~But that's the main point. You're not here.~~_

_I guess I have to explain a bit better. Ruth is a kind elderly lady from Iowa. I've never met her in person, so don't start to tease me about her looks, okay? Show some respect, buddy, if you even know what that is. We talk often, at least once a day. She doesn't mind if I call her, and... you know, she helps me a lot with her chatter. So. She mentioned psychologists. Imagine, in the future there is a whole profession dedicated to the mind's illnesses. They help people heal from shellshock and battle fatigue and such - of course, they call them differently nowadays, but it's basically the same thing. So this brain doctor suggested to Ruth's son, who's also a soldier, to write down his thoughts because it sometimes helps. To deal with loss. Or whatever. (He's a pararescue, by the way. Field medic. Must be hard.)_

_Ruth suggested to compose a letter. To someone I lost._

_I feel stupid, writing this, I don't know how could this help. You won't read it. ~~No matter how much I wish you to be here.~~_

_Bucky, you'd love this place. This whole 21th century. Because guess what? I ended up here, in the future. As you promised. You took me here in the end. ~~I wanted to go to you but I ended up here instead.~~_

_But we were supposed to be here together. You should be here. You'd deserve it more than I._

_~~I just~~ _

_~~I can't~~ _

_I know it was my fault._

_I wish I could change it._

_With love,_

_Steve"_

***

Tony introduces Yinsen.

Okay, maybe it’s really stretched to say in this form. The second morning in the mansion Steve starts to suspect something’s really off with Tony’s sleep – not like Steve has a healthy one, he barely sleeps at all himself -, because as Tony stumbles to the kitchen again for coffee, the bags under his eyes are bigger than ever, and his hands are shaking a bit, and he yawns at least three times during the two minute coffee making procedure. So he doesn’t show his brightest form.

Which probably explains why the man entering the kitchen ignores Steve’s presence for the favor of scowling at Tony, greeting him with “Stark, if I have to, I _will_ kick you out of your own mansion. The Colonel would expect me to do so in his absence. You have to _sleep_.”

And the lack of sleep probably explains why Tony blinks at the man owlishly. “Are you still here? Nah, you can’t. I thought you too moved out too to drive the message home or something.”

Steve observes everything, his own tea forgotten in his hands. He can’t exactly pinpoint the origins of the man, but he guesses middle-eastern. He seems ordinary with his balding head and clothes which are probably normal ones as far as Steve observed future fashion. He wears glasses, but the look in his brown eyes with dark circles around them is familiar somehow.

Yinsen’s expression morphs into something softer, and Steve realizes the look: the man is not only _sad_. The emptiness under his features is of barely concealed _loss_. He’s mourning.

And suddenly Steve can relate to him more and the arrival’s concern about their host’s wellbeing is even more justified.

“Seriously, Tony, Jarvis says—“

“Jarvis should shut his speakers,” Tony butts in, sounding more vivid immediately.

“—that you haven’t slept in sixty hours, someone—“

“I’m totally fine!”

The man eyes Tony critically, and Steve is too amused by their casual camaraderie to interrupt them. He doesn’t dare to move, thinking they forgot about his presence. He should’ve known better – it’s Tony he’s speaking about. And even as sleep-deprived as he apparently is, he’s still a genius. He doesn’t forget about people as easily.

And he’s not above of using them as distraction if he wants to get out of a situation. So he interrupts Yinsen as he starts some lecture about healthy lifestyles and advisable habits.

“Hey, have you met each other before? Cap, this is my good friend Ho Yinsen, who acts like an annoying mother hen right now, but otherwise he’s a pleasing company. And apparently he still lives here.”

Steve knows first impressions are important, so he stands up and sticks his hand out to shake the other’s. And only then does he turn toward Tony.

“I thought I shouldn’t be advertising my title.”

“Oh, shit,” Tony realizes his mistake with widening eyes. “Sorry, Cap.”

“Steve Rogers,” he introduces himself, and his heart suddenly feels twice as heavy. The little slip of tongue made him aware of the fact that Tony always calls him by the nickname that comes from his title. Tony never called him Steve, except that one time after the unfortunate car accident.

It’s a sour pill to swallow, but he forces himself to smile as he engages in conversation with Yinsen, both of them pretending to not see as Tony slips out of the kitchen. Steve’s pretty sure they’re both on the same platform at the moment, at least he knows where he stands with this. Tony’s a grown up, they can’t force him to listen to reason. Plus he’d be the biggest hypocrite to call him out on this kind of bullshit, since he really has a history of not following healthy and life-preserving, sensible advice. And anyway, Tony’s the one at home, he has every right to do whatever he wants.

***

“You make mountains out of molehills!” Tony practically shouts, exasperated, and Steve jumps to his feet and rushes toward the source of the noise, see if he can aid him with anything. He’s maybe a bit too eager to jump at the first opportunity, but it’s not only because he wants to spend as much time as possible with his host. He really wants to help, to return just a little bit of something, to reciprocate some of the hospitality he enjoys.

“James…” Tony sounds even more distressed. “Look, could you trust me a bit, for fuck’s sake? We both know Steve’s not dangerous… Okay, not dangerous to me.”

To these words, Steve stops dead in his tracks, right hand lifted to knock on Tony’s half-open door. But if he’s talking about _Steve_ , then interrupting is really, really not the best course of action. Even if he has no idea why Colonel Rhodes would think he’s dangerous… okay, he can imagine, and he knows a soldier could have reason to think like this, but he would never, never hurt Tony.

“He just needs a place to be in peace, and I can give him that. Like I gave it to you once, when I had even less reason to trust you, if you remember.”

Steve turns on his heels and leaves. As much as he’s dying of curiosity, he can’t just stand there eavesdropping. Tony deserves better than that. Steve starts to jog to get out of hearing range, but he’s still not fast enough.

“You should come home, _please_. I miss you so much.”

Steve doesn’t really understand why these words break him inside, but he practically feels as something topples and crumbles in his chest - maybe where hope was supposed to be until this point.

***

He doesn’t sleep. He can’t. His body feels like those first days after he got serumed: it’s still too much to physically process. Back in that time, he could rationalize it. The doctors explained that expanded lung capacity meant his body wasn’t withheld by the lack of breath anymore. Until that point, Steve never really understood how much strain his conditions gave to his body – the lack of pain, the lack of exhaustion, _that_ made him aware of it belatedly.

Now it’s not about breath and oxygen – or, maybe, it can be, who knows –, it’s just that he feels like he’d been motionless and at rest for so long. Feels wrong not to move constantly. It’s probably just in his head, if he didn’t know how much time has passed he wouldn’t be like this.

But he knows. And he can’t rest.

He can’t allow that for himself. If he stays in bed too long the itching in his brain will make him go crazy.

(If he stays in place too long he might as well be frozen all over again.)

Yinsen is sitting in the kitchen one night when he wanders in.

“Want a coffee?” he lifts his mug as to show his offering. Steve nods, then watches the man as he makes the drink. The coffee machine looks ridiculously complicated, so Steve didn’t try to use it yet. He’d die of shame if he’d accidentally broke something here, that would be absolutely disrespectful and ungrateful for the many things Tony’s already giving him.

“Can’t sleep?” Steve asks as he accepts the coffee, then promptly wants to bite his tongue off, since it’s obvious. Yinsen doesn’t seem offended, at least.

“You’d be surprised how common it is in this household,” and he looks pointedly toward the stairs, and the workshop below. Some faint glow comes from the direction, hard to pinpoint its source, and there aren’t any noises.

Steve already knows the workshop is soundproofed, so that doesn’t mean anything.

“Uhm, yeah,” Steve sips his drink, “I had the impression.” He wonders what makes a man like Tony restless. He doesn’t have to worry about money, he has friends and people who care with him – Yinsen is clearly worried about him and he talked about Rhodey and Pepper and Happy too –, he is a genius full of ideas…

Maybe that’s the problem. Too many thoughts crammed up in one’s skull can be unpleasant, too.

“Company makes it better,” Yinsen suggests out of nowhere, still looking toward the stairs. Steve arches an eyebrow.

“Well, I’m glad to be of help to you,” he smiles politely.

Yinsen sighs exasperatedly.

***

Pepper reminds him of Peggy. She has the same commanding aura. Or maybe because he’s reading about a Carter – when he discovered there was a president named Carter, he immediately assumed it was Peggy. Or at least her brother Michael, maybe. Or some other relative of hers, but really, his mind always spirals toward Peggy anytime he reads that name. So he’s pretty disappointed to realize President Carter didn’t have, in fact, any relations to a certain SSR agent.

That’s when Miss Potts marches directly into the workshop, where Tony is in the middle of his engineering binge and Steve is doing his best to figure out if this president is worth of reading more about after this letdown. Instead of going to Tony, though, she steps in front of Steve, who immediately jumps to his feet in the presence of a lady. It’s just polite.

“Nice to meet you, Captain Rogers,” she greets him, and she has a kind smile and worry in her eyes. “I’m Virginia Potts, but please call me Pepper.”

“It’s my pleasure, Ms. Potts,” Steve shakes the hand offered, then he remembers what the USO girls taught him about impressing a lady and he lifts it to his lips and breathes a light kiss to the skin without actually touching it. It’s so much easier to do when he doesn’t expect anything in return, not even in his wildest dreams, he just wishes to be nice to her. “Pepper,” he corrects himself according to her request.

It may even work because she smiles. “I hope we’ll eventually have the chance to know each other a bit more, but I’m kind of in a hurry right now. I just dropped in to make sure Tony will be alright – old habits die hard.”

Steve nods, though he’s not sure why the woman tells him this. She beckons him with her and they walk to Tony’s workbench. Pepper stands above him, arms crossed in front of her.

“Tony,” she calls as a greeting.

When he looks up, Tony’s eyes are bloodshot and his hands don’t shake only because he’s tightly clutching the welding torch. But still he smiles brightly at Pepper. “Ah, the bearer of my heart is here, thank god. Can I still ask for a coffee? Please? Dummy doesn’t do it anymore. Apparently he thinks I’m addicted and he refuses to give me more.”

“Dummy is a good boy.” Pepper pats the robot that comes close to the mention of its name. “Smarter than you, it seems. So this is an intervention. You have a date with your bed, Mr. Stark.”

Tony pouts. Literally. Steve couldn’t figure earlier that a gesture like this could be anything but ridiculous, and it’s sure as hell childish, but somehow it suits Tony. Makes him cute.

“I have work to do.”

“And it will wait for you.” Pepper gently takes the torch out of Tony’s hand. “You. Bed. Sleeping. _I mean it._ ”

Tony averts his gaze, and Steve shifts uncomfortably. He isn’t sure why he’s here, why Pepper wanted him to be here. It’s not a scene for him to witness. But before he could sneak away, she turns to him.

“I know it’s a lot to ask, but please, make sure he really stays in bed for at least a few hours. If you don’t have anywhere else to be, of course. I’d do it myself, but I’m busy and there’s no one else here to ask,” she explains calmly, and Steve feels the heat rushing toward his face like he’s ready to combust to fire any moment. He appreciates this straightforwardness, but it’s not something he’s used to. The fact that she’s a dame doesn’t really count here, it wouldn’t be any less awkward with a man.

“Of course,” he answers anyway, because it’s the least he can do, and Pepper seems like a lady who knows what she’s doing and Tony totally needs rest.

She leads them up to Tony’s room. Steve’s never been there yet, and it’s… shockingly impersonal.

There are no photos. No books, or little silly items that hold treasured memories. It’s almost as minimalist as the living room, with well-thought matching shades on the furniture and the carpet. It’s almost… sterile. Except for the bed.

The bed is huge. It looks like it’s comfortable for at least four people at the same time, and it’s filled with pillows and blankets and it looks like a comfortable nest, full of colors against the pastel of everything else. There is a black blanket with silvery pattern on it that seems like illustrate some kind of machinery. There is one with military camouflage pattern. There are bright red and gold ones, at least three of the same variety. There is a deep, rich green one with a silver serpent on it and a blue one with a raven. There is a rainbow one. There are pillows with quotes printed with neat cursive on them. Steve thinks it’s lovely in its chaotic way.

Miss Potts tugs Tony in bed, wraps him in layers of blankets.

“No,” Tony protests but his heart is not really in it and he seems like he’s ready to fall asleep the moment he’s left alone. “I can’t,” he pouts again.

“Yes, you can,” Pepper places her hand on his forehead and Steve’s heart surges at the tenderness of the moment. If he’d wanted any more proof that Pepper cares deeply and wholeheartedly about Tony, this alone would convince him.

“Not alone,” Tony protests. “I miss him so much, Pepper, will he come home?”

Pepper’s shoulders get tenser and he spares a glance toward Steve.

“Yes,” she answers finally. “Eventually. Definitely. Just needs time, be a bit more patient.”

Tony clutches to Pepper’s hand. Steve steps there and takes it to his palms: Tony’s lean fingers lock around his wrist immediately, his skin feels cool on his serum-enhanced inner heat.

Pepper caresses Tony’s forehead one last time then the pit-a-pat of her heels signals her leave quickly. Steve stands awkwardly, because as much as Tony’s squeeze softened, he still holds tightly, and Steve doesn’t want to wriggle himself free and startle him with it. So, after some inner strategic debate, he sits down on the carpet. Sitting on the bed seems too much, like invading privacy, but he can sit here, next to Tony’s bed, holding his hand.

Tony is fast asleep within minutes, and Steve barely breathes in fear of disturbing his rest.

And if he’s able to nap a bit, his head dropped on the nearest blanket, well, he can’t complain about that either.

***

Waking up is awkward, of course. Steve’s inner clock tells him they've slept five hours and roughly thirty-six minutes. Tony looks at him with startled, panicked eyes as he tries to come up with something to stay, mind fumbling with coherent thoughts without the proper amount of coffee, and Steve flees before any of them could come up with something embarrassing.

He decides not to go to the workshop that day. He runs into Tony anyway in the kitchen. They both blush, but Tony doesn’t mention anything, so Steve follows his lead and stays mute as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not only the longest chapter, but so far it was the hardest to write. It took me almost a month, and I'm still not satisfied with the results. So please let me know if you think it's not garbage! :)  
> Also, if you want some chatting, background info about the OCs, or anything else, feel free to ask here or on [my tumblr](http://menatiera.tumblr.com)! :)


	6. James

Pepper seems surprised, and worried, but not upset. “James! Are you alright?” she asks first, and James feels like he could hug her. Of course he doesn’t do things like _hugging_ , except with Tony, therefore the thought of that close contact with her is more than uncomfortable. So much, in fact, that James takes a step back from the doorstep and averts his gaze.

“Am I allowed… can I come in?” he corrects his phrasing before he finishes the first sentence, but it still causes momentary sadness to Pepper anyway.

“Of course, you don’t need to ask!” she almost shouts in hurry. “You are always welcome here, James.”

Her kindness is not unexpected, yet James always feels like he’s gifted when he’s on the receiving end. Especially in the middle of the night, because the clock on the living room wall informs everyone that it’s half past eleven already. James didn’t notice the pass of time. Now that he‘s aware of it, his stomach protests with a loud rumbling noise as he’s walking around the room, examining his surroundings. He needs to know if the windows are passing as exit points (a glance at the slight darkness of the glass tells James it’s reinforced and bulletproof, which makes it hard to break in case of an emergency), where the three doors lead (bathroom, bedroom, guest room), where the tools that can pass as weapons are within the kitchenette (he finds a few knives that seem like good quality but totally unbalanced for throwing), and the map of the furniture. (The room has way more furniture than Tony’s place usually has.) Pepper should wait until the end of the examination, but she asks questions almost immediately.

“What happened? Is _Tony_ alright?” And now she sounds upset.

The question is silly, though. She should know that Tony can’t be in immediate danger, otherwise James would be at his side for sure. So James shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “As far as I know. He’s at home.”

Pepper doesn’t chew her lips like James does when he’s confused. But she straightens her back just like he does, and she clasps her hands in front of her, likely to steady them and avoid telltale signs of hand and finger movements. She probably watched enough of Tony to know how much body language can betray one’s act. “Do you want some drink? Or food? I guess you’re hungry.”

He is, but admitting that would be a weakness.

He tries to clear his head. He’s allowed to show weakness: it’s Pepper. They know each other. She threw popcorn at him just to laugh at him catching it with his mouth one time during movie marathon and she let him untangle her hair in return. (That was a dang good night and Tony laughed his ass off at them.) She’s safe to be around. She’d never punish him for being hungry. He must be… pretty out of it if he reverted to that mindset this much, this easily.

“If you don’t mind,” he offers and risks a smile, hiding how much he hates the weakness in his voice, in his guts.

“Of course not. I always have some takeout in the fridge. Soda okay? I don’t have any alcohol, but I can make some tea or coffee if you want.”

He just nods and lets her interpret that as she wishes.

In the end, James eats expensive Chinese food and drinks chamomile tea that Pepper pours for him and for herself as well, while they sit next to the counter of the kitchenette.

“Please, tell me what happened and why are you here? I don’t want to complain, and you’re always welcome to stay here, but so far I had the impression that you’re perfectly comfortable at the mansion and at Tony’s side, and now it’s midnight and you’re here and it freaks me out a bit. Who is in danger?”

James feels like he can’t swallow the next bite of his food, but he forces himself, and then he eyes his fork like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. Her question is a good one – totally missing the point in this case, but reasonable nonetheless. Her assumption is not without logic.

“I don’t know. Maybe no one,” he answers, though he doubts it. “I came because… Tony, he…” James’s not sure how to explain the situation, or if he _has_ to explain at all. He could say no. Humans have the right to _not_ explain things.

But he came to Pepper and she’s kind and understanding and has been supportive of him since she’s got to know him and so she deserves to know.

James sighs and to his utter surprise it comes out shaky. “He brought the Captain home with him.” There. Out. Quickly, like a band aid tore from the skin, not that those ever harmed him. He ignores the fact that he wasn’t able to use that name instead of the rank.

Pepper’s lets out a hissing breath as shock hits her, but then she nods like she understands it. “And you freaked out because Captain Rogers doesn’t know about your presence?”

Oh. James almost forgot Pepper doesn’t know about him having a connection to Steve. Which means she has no chance of fully understanding the situation… which is good. The less people know about _that_ the better. James wishes he could forget it too. Tony told her about the situation, so she’s not surprised by the guest’s identity, at least.

Instead of a further explanation, he nods. “I don’t trust him.”

“He’s Captain America,” she says. “I’m pretty sure he’s trustworthy.”

“He was in ice,” James replies. “He… he might be a--” He can’t finish.

“If you really didn’t trust him, you wouldn’t leave Tony alone with him.” She smiles. Then she wrinkles her forehead. “I mean… oh my, for how long have you been watching them?”

“Since the moment they arrived,” James admits. “Five hours and seventeen minutes,” he adds, like it’s a report, though he’s aware Pepper doesn’t need this kind of accuracy from him. (Not at the moment, at least.)

She shakes her head, and she seems more amused than upset. “I guess you have Jarvis set up for even more surveillance?”

Well, of course. It only makes sense, right?

“You know, you are amazing and I love you and trust you, but sometimes you two are just so stupid,” Pepper sighs. “A little straightforwardness could solve many problems in your life, if you ask me. Better to swallow the sour pill quickly than to hold it in your mouth for long. I mean, there’s a reason there are so many expression on this topic, this, it’s… basic communication?”

From her point of view, it probably seems reasonable. But she doesn’t have all the data. She doesn’t know. James knows. He thinks back to those moments at the mansion when he realized what was happening.

 

He panicked. Which is stupid. The Winter Soldier does not panic, not ever, yet he, James, definitely did. And even by thinking back to it, he feels it again.

Jarvis’s warning made him alert under two seconds and the picture of the front entrance camera made him feel like throwing up, like his insides have been turned out. His head throbbed and his heart ached and his skin crawled and he wanted to go, to see with his own eyes, but at the same time all his cells collectively screamed ‘ _run ruN RUN!’_ at him in raising urgency. He wasn’t sure _where_ : toward or away from him.

He froze. He stood stunned, unable to move, unable to do anything else than to witness as Steve Rogers, former Captain America, possible Winter Soldier number fucking two entered the mansion, then promptly fell into an asthma attack.

 _That_ he knew. He remembered.

His head felt like a hand grenade had nested and exploded into it, spilling voices and colors all around, memories James wasn’t fully aware of until then, echoes of a past long gone or hardly existing, smells of a dusty little apartment in Brooklyn, the cheapest and most broke neighborhood around that time, chatter of noisy neighbours who were at least discreet enough not to mention how fragile and sick _that Rogers boy_ seemed every winter under the layers of their handed down jackets, texture of rough walls and soft skins under his knuckles when he had to fight _for him_ , the lights of the fireworks every year, the…

It was too much.

But he didn’t pass out, not like he did when Natalia’s sight dropped her own memory bomb a few months ago. He couldn’t let himself to be knocked out when _Steve_ was there, in the mansion, and James wanted to go, he wanted to be in his presence, he wanted to know if he still felt that warm like once, if he still blushed so easily, if he still smelled the same, if he could hug him finally after so many, _too many_ years spent apart, he wanted to go and help him through the asthma attack like he did back in the days.

But at the same time, he wanted to go and hit him. He wanted to smash that stupid face, he wanted to make him crumble until he became small again, he wanted to knock him out to make sure, he wanted to protect himself, because it was too good to be simply true, had to be a trick somewhere hidden, something used to hurt everyone, something that would trigger the sleeper agent out of him, something that is not only capable, but willing to ruin everything James built around himself since he escaped from HYDRA.

He couldn’t decide. Tony trusted Steve, that was clear. He was there to help, and he did the job flawlessly. He had experience, after all: both James and Tony had their fair share of vulnerable moments and panic attacks and breathing problems. And…

Steve and Tony at the other side of the screen, with the latter’s hand on the former’s shoulder, somehow seemed _right_. James and Tony fit all right, but Tony would’ve deserved so much more than James, and the boy from his memories, the _blueblondsmallkind_ was more. _Steve_ was better than James, better than _Bucky_ , any given day. _Steve_ was gentle and thoughtful and good, despite being full of rage and insecurities. _Steve_ was someone Tony would deserve.

At the same time, it felt wrong. It couldn’t have been further from right. James was at Tony's side during the last months, years. James was the one who helped, just as Tony helped him in return, they saved each other, they comforted each other, they fought with each other and made up later, they battled everything and everyone who tried to stand between them so far. They belonged together and they completed each other. Steve didn't earn this, not yet, maybe not ever: it was a secret, kept right under ribcages and close to hearts, not to be seen by everyone.

And James - well, _Bucky_ \- was the one who belonged to Steve's side. It should have been him, crouching there and helping him breathe like in old days. He should've been the one to keep him company, to help him adjust to the modern world, it wasn't _fair_ any other way.

James was almost physically hurt by his conflicting thoughts and emotions, by their sheer number and their intensity. He wanted it to stop, he wanted the world to go back to normal, to make sense again. Yet he didn't want to lose Steve again. Yet he didn't know if the figure in the living room could really be _Steve_ or would it hurt even more when it inevitably turns out not to be...

And yet, he couldn't tear his eyes from the pair. All he was able to do was to step back mentally, to revert and recall times when decision seemed easier.

On one hand, feeling only the cold and calculating while assessing the level of threat and analyzing the overall situation, counting probabilities and variabilities was way easier. He knew this part of his brain, where his programming, his training, his soldier-self sat: it never went away, just got under his control instead of outer handlers, once he broke free from Hydra. That rational, logical part of him was the easiest to deal with, and it wasn't the first time James wished to give into it and let it take over. (Sometimes, especially in combat situations, he did so, but this wasn't a combat situation. Yet.) He really wished it had been, then.

Because his other parts were much more harder to understand. There was that one, the one from _before_ , who saw the man but his vision overlapped with a boy’s image, small and fragile and _beautiful_ , and those instincts screamed to go, burst into the room. Instead of fight he wanted to provide care, instead of hits he thought in caresses; he wanted to stand over him and help him breathe - like James helped Tony many times, that knowledge had come from this part of him -, he wanted to crack a joke and made the boy rile up so much he’d survived out of spite. The Bucky-person not only wanted this, but _remembered_ as well, and craved for it to happen again, for him to settle and feel at home again at Steve’s left.

Which was absurd.

Because on the other hand, he still (still?) was James, still was the one in control, and he had his own opinion and his own priorities, and his priority was and had to be Tony. He wanted... _fuck_ , he wanted to go to the living room too. He wanted to believe that the man inside wasn’t a threat but he didn’t dare, and he wanted to go in to _test_. (Not to fight and _definitely_ not to cuddle.) He needed proof. He wanted to take on his stupid, horrible mask and his favorite goggles and wanted to wear his tac gear and body armor, he wanted to hold a rifle on his shoulder, to show himself at the full deadly glory of the Winter Soldier. He’d see the Captain’s reaction to it. He wanted to threaten him, show him what’d happen if he ever hurt his Mechanic. He wanted the Captain to tell the whole world that the Soldier is still ready to burn everything down to protect his Mechanic, and he’s ready to remind everyone with dead bodies if someone didn’t learn their lesson enough back in Afghanistan.

It was absolutely, fuckingly irrational and the Soldier in his head almost shrieked at how huge of a tactical misstep it would be (even bigger than to give in to the Bucky-person's wish), and it was probably enough to have him stay put but not enough to eliminate the _want_.

He stayed where he was. He remained motionless and forced himself to just _watch_ them, soaking up the scene only with his eyes.

And then they came down to the workshop.

And James escaped. He took a car, didn’t even care which one, and left. Not to far away, of course: he wouldn’t let his Mechanic alone with a potential threat. He parked in front of the house for a while, phone in hand, watching them on the little screen, thanks to Jarvis, then he sneaked inside to examine them up close and personal, until he was sure Rogers won’t make a move (yet?), that Tony wasn’t in immediate danger to be dragged away.

***

Going back inside wasn’t a relief, but it was satisfying enough to be able to leave properly a few hours later.

And he ended up in Pepper’s place because he didn’t really have many places to go. Running away, going rogue alone is not an option anymore, he wants to stay close, he needs to be with Tony. Yinsen doesn’t have an apartment since he too lives at Tony’s mansion, Rhodey is out of the country, and anyone else who would be aware of his existence probably wants to kill, freeze or brainwash him.

What a comforting thought. But at least he knows what to expect, and he knows he can handle things like assassination attempts or armed HYDRA goons. He’s good at violence, he can do that. Handling the threat of his own memories? Facing his supposed to be best friend from the past long forgotten? Not really his forte, no.

He realizes belatedly that Pepper is gone, left only a note on the counter, _‘J.! Went to bed, don’t freak out, guest room is ready for you. Love, Pepper’_ it says. Which means James went so deep into his thoughts that he lost all contact of his surroundings, which means he has to keep his shit together better. Especially since he’s not at home, he’s not safe, and he has people to protect. He has to be _much_ better than this.

***

The next two days are a haze. He leaves Pepper’s apartment sporadically, drives to the mansion and watches over its inhabitants. He makes sure to do this at various times. Routine can be tracked and he doesn’t want to be tracked. When he’s not there personally, he clutches his phone and continues his surveillance via Jarvis’s cameras. He was never more grateful for the full access he got from Tony to System’s monitoring functions than he is now.

He should be happy and relieved. Rogers doesn’t act suspiciously. Which is suspicious on its own.

He’s polite. He’s quiet. He rarely talks and never raises his voice. He moves cautiously, like he’s afraid otherwise he might break something. He’s kind to Tony and later to Yinsen as well. The most he allows himself are some sarcastic or ironic comments – and he’s good at sarcasm, of course.

He creates echoes in James’s mind. He makes him hurt all over again. Sometimes he says something – or just stands in a certain way, or winces from something, and James feels like he’s sucked into a whirlwind of memories, pictures that show the exact same thing, from this big form or from that skinny boy, doesn’t matter, because they’re the same, yet they aren’t and it’s so confusing and James wonders if stabbing a pen through his eye into the brain tissue would hurt less.

***

He misses Tony. He wants to be near him. He can’t sleep without him, not anymore, and he hates himself for it. But he needs Tony’s warm presence near, the touch of skin under his palm to remind him that the darkness of closing his eyes is not everlasting, and the sleep is only temporary. (He hates sleeping.)

They talk, of course. It’s the twenty-first century, with tons of forms and opportunities for communication.

James is strong. He doesn’t call Tony. Tony is stubborn. He calls James all the time.

James is not strong enough to refuse the contacting attempts. But that’s not nearly enough. Not satisfying enough.

***

Pepper comes and goes just as unpredictably as James. Sometimes she has time to drop by for a shower at noon, sometimes she comes home in the middle of the night, and in one occasion, not at all. (“Too much paperwork to do,” she explains next evening when she finally shows up, after she got informed that James’s checked on her during the day, and James see the signs of lie, the way her eyes track the room instead of meeting his gaze, the way her posture changes as she says the words.)

***

He has time to think, because besides watching over people that’s all he has to do. And he tries. He tries to untangle all of this mess. How he feels and what he thinks about them and about himself, where is he in this table of chess, where will the danger come from when it finally arrives, and how to prepare himself and everyone else for it…

Yinsen visits once. It’s after he met Rogers for the first time.

“He looks lost,” is his observation about him. “He reminds me of us.”

“Us?” James is only able to echo the word. It’s dumb. It’s heartwarming. Who would ever consider him as part of any group of people and say it without any hint of hesitation, without thinking twice? Tony and Pepper do, and apparently Yinsen too. They think him as of their kin, their friend, and James can breathe a little easier. It’s not like he didn’t know already that they consider him as part of the group, but it’s… still comforting to hear.

“I think he’ll be alright, just as we turned out okay after all,” Yinsen shrugs. “But he’ll need help. Tony tries to give him. Why aren’t you doing the same, James?”

He doesn’t know the facts either. He doesn’t know… James’s jaw is sealed tight, and he can’t bring himself to answer honestly.

“He’s dangerous,” he says instead.

Yinsen doesn’t seem to understand. “Aren’t we all?” And his smile is so, so sad that James almost asks about it. Almost.

***

But the conversation makes James think even harder.

He gave pieces of himself to everyone, not letting them see the full picture, because that would make him too open, too vulnerable. Tony knows the most, but not even he has the whole picture – he doesn’t know the full deal about Natalia, for example, and… James realizes, suddenly, that he wants to change this.

He wants someone to see him, without redaction, including everything, all the flaws and brokenness and mistakes and blood. He’s just too afraid of it. Because what if Tony doesn’t want him after he sees everything? And this thought leads to the conclusion: he doesn’t want just anybody to know him. He wants _Tony_ , he wants _his Mechanic_ to know him.

And what about Steve? Steve knew him once, knew _everything_ about him.

James’s sure he remembers this correctly. The _blond boy memories_ got their warmth for proof. The two of them, they were… inseparable. Content. Whole. With each other. And everything started to crumble when Bucky started to keep secrets from him. When he decided to know better than to tell. Not after… not after capture, no, it started earlier, with little things, and they escalated slowly but steadily, until everything fell apart and Bucky fell down.

Does he… do this again? With Tony? He doesn’t want, he needs to tell him, not to repeat the same mistake twice—

But he can’t—

Not right now, at least, it seems like an impossibly huge task, but… everything can be practiced. Honesty can be practiced. _Opening up_ can be practiced.

What if he practiced it with someone else first? There’s a great deal of risk there, too, but not as grave as it would be with Tony.

He considers Yinsen and Pepper. He counts the reasons, he wonders which would be harder. Pepper wins only by fraction thanks to the fact that she’s known Tony longer than Yinsen.

So that night James waits for her in the hallway, just a shadow among the shadows, after he stripped himself from all of his weapons – just to be cautious – except his arm, and with food he got a few blocks away in a salad bar he knows Pepper likes.

***

His confession is… well, it’s not easy to utter out those words, and it probably gets messed up a bit, and he’s so superfocused on Pepper that he can’t even monitor himself properly. He knows his heartbeat is elevated, he’s out of breath like he’s been running at high speed for a while. He knows he’s wrangling his hands and he feels like he needs to jump to his feet and flee. But Pepper’s gaze is steady, pins him to his seat. Pepper’s face went to a kind and professional smile from the moment James announced he wants to tell something, and she placed her hand on James’s knee when he needed the human touch the most, when he was gibbering about memory wipes and missions.

It’s not about only confessing his past and identity. It’s about revealing weaknesses and about telling things of which even a fraction would automatically lead to the Chair if it was HYDRA. It’s overwhelming, and by the end James is sweaty and his flesh hand shakes so bad he has to hide it behind his back, holding with the metal one.

He would’ve expected her to freak out. She’s probably freaking out, but, well, she has more than enough practice with Tony and with bossing a company to hide it almost perfectly. Still, James sees the cracks in her façade, the momentary expression of terror on her face as she understands it, the way she has to take deep breaths or as her lips turn into a thin line. But she doesn’t retract her hand from James’s knee.

And instead of _‘Why didn’t you tell me earlier?’_ or _‘Why are you telling to me now?’_ or something like this, she asks, “Does Tony know about this?”

James wets his lips and nods. “He figured it out _before_ me. He helped me remembering.”

Well, it’s the short version, and James doesn’t want to tell the details, or to reveal it was at the same day he and Pepper met. The day when Stane tried to kill Tony and everyone else, stole the ARC-reactor from his chest and used a suit to attack Tony. He doesn’t want to say that he’s still ashamed of himself for not being there when Tony needed him, that he hates himself for not preventing the theft in the first place while he was locked up in his own head by a memory rush. He doesn’t share, either, how much he appreciates Pepper’s concern, and how much relieved he is for knowing she’ll always care for Tony so much.

She nods and stands up. “I think we both need some hot tea. Chamomile?” She makes herself busy with the tea making process, paying almost too much attention to each step: her movements are graceful and her face is frozen a concentrated expression, not giving away any clues of her feelings. For a while, James is just watching her, awestruck by how much he adores this woman. She’s as close to perfection as anyone can be: she’s steel strong where it counts, but always ready to be soft as well. Kind, gentle, easy-going with the ones she likes but ruthlessly effective against anyone who deserves it. Yes, she can and sometimes even does panic, or gets confused, but overall she’s in charge, in control of the situation and always looks for the best solution. She’s quick and sharp and she cares so, so much. James even thinks, distantly: _if Tony wouldn’t be mine, I’d want him to be Pepper’s._

Though at this point he’s not really sure if even _Tony_ would deserve a dame like Pepper.

“I’m not judging you for keeping it a secret,” Pepper says as she sets down the tray with the tea between them on the counter. “It must’ve been really hard to tell this to me,” she continues, and she pours some tea into one of the cups. The steam in front of her face makes her look ethereal and majestic.

She waits until James nods, then she hands over the cup and lifts her own. She inhales the scent of the tea deeply. “I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through, James. Seventy years!” she trails off, eyes still on the liquid.

“Tony helps a lot,” he admits quietly.

“And you’ve helped him a lot in return, I guess. After… after everything. It’s good to know that you… you understood what he went through, before we did.”

They still don’t understand fully, James thinks, but doesn’t say out loud. He might not be the most sensible human being, but he has learned the lesson that being quiet is often a better option than to unnecessarily hurt others with words. He’s pretty sure Pepper’s calm is not truly honest, that she’s more freaked out than she admits – and who could blame her for it? –, so he doesn’t go on to say anything else. He just enjoys the silence and Pepper’s hand that’s back on his knee, reassuring him in the moment and in the acceptance she offers.

The whole world doesn’t deserve Pepper.

He’ll protect her from everything, as long as he lives. That’s the least he can do in return of her kindness.

***

Pepper clears her schedule and goes for horse-riding the next day. She tells James because she doesn’t want him to freak out if he discovers she’s not at work, nor at the mansion. She’s thoughtful.

It still freaks James out because if Pepper leaves all her duties to the company behind in favor of a stress-relieving activity, then _she’s_ the one who freaked out, by none other than James and his story. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable or unbalanced.

But overall he still thinks of last day as a success. He didn’t lash out. He wasn’t violent, not even when he was recalling memories of being hurt. He wasn’t even dissociating or getting lost in his head. He was in control of himself the whole time. That’s better than he feared things would go.

What freaks him out even more is happening in the middle of the day, when his mind helpfully supplies one of the movie night conversations, when Pepper said she trusts Natalia because her horse trusts her too. James sits up in the bed he uses currently and swears audibly. His heart pounds like it wants to break out of his ribcage.

All he’s able to do is to hope that Pepper doesn’t go with Natalia this time, and if she does, she doesn’t talk about James during their time together. He… has to trust Pepper.

He may be trusting her, but he doesn’t trust Natalia, best interrogator of the Red Room. His heartbeat doesn’t slow down to baseline until she sees Pepper again, safe and sound.

***

“You promised to treat him like—” Tony starts, and James pinches the bridge of his nose as he shuts his eyes tightly.

“I might do that if we’ll ever meet.”

Meeting Steve. That is more than a terrifying concept.

“So…”

“No, I’m not showing myself,” he cuts in before Tony could even start a sentence. They’ve done this conversation like three times already since he left. Tony usually lets James do things the way he likes, but he really thinks James is acting stupid now.

Tony is usually right, so it’s probably true, but it doesn’t have to stop James from doing it anyway.

“But you’d be happier—“

“NO.” James doesn’t raise his voice, yet the word sounds completely definitive, no room for argument.

“WHY?!” Tony’s not shy to shout, if he’s frustrated enough, which he is now.

James wants to explain. He wants to put it into words, because if he’d be able to do that then he might understand it himself. But he can’t. The words crowd up in his throat and they burn like hellfire and he can’t spit them out.

“Mind your own business, Tony,” he grits out and hangs up the phone, then promptly bangs his head twelve times into the wall until it hurts more than his chest.

Tony would deserve so much better than this. Tony, who values knowledge so much, would deserve to understand this mess, but James is not sure he’ll ever be able to untangle the knots in his stomach and mind and emotions to himself, let alone to anyone else.

Despite not acting so, he’s happy for Steve being back. So happy, in fact, that he can’t just accept it. Steve, _if he’s really himself_ , being here complicates everything.

Because…

He loved Steve.

He may still be loving him.

And he loves Tony.

He loves both of them, slightly differently, but not less intensely.

Steve _was_ home _once_. But Tony _is_ home _now._ Can one have two _home_ s at the same time? How can one solve a puzzle like this? James thinks of himself as a problem solver. Sure, give him someone to kill, no matter how hard it is, he can do it. Give him a place to figure out the best possible protection of, and he’ll find a way to turn it into a fortress that can hold off against armies. Give him an empty room and he’ll find a way to arm himself. But this… this is out of his field of expertise. He can’t find the ground to figure this out. He’s not… he’s not trained for this. He’s not good enough for _this._

And yet he’ll have to decide, and soon. Because in their line of life, Tony will get into trouble. Iron Man is in the line of fire all the time, no matter how much James hates this fact. And there’s still a loose end, HYDRA is still out there possibly looking for their Asset, and… yeah, his memory might be holey like a cheese, but he definitely remembers Steve Rogers getting into trouble in no time, so he won’t be the easier deal either.

In a nutshell, he has too little time with too many things to sort out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might not have the chance to post a chapter tomorrow, due to some cable management my internet provider scheduled, but let's hope it won't last all evening! :) (If so, sorry for the delay, and I'll post chapter 7 on Friday - from work if I must!)  
> As usual, come and talk to me on [tumblr](http://menatiera.tumblr.com) if you feel like, and please feed the author with comments! :)


	7. Tony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a pretty long chapter as well, to make up for the waiting! I hope you'll enjoy it! :)

Tony is an Emotion, and that emotion is Panic.

Okay, that’s not entirely true, of course, he’s still keeping himself in check and he’s still the genius billionaire philanthropist he is, but still.

Firstly, he managed to hurt Captain America. A squadron of fucking Nazis weren’t able to hurt Captain America, but simply stepping on a break while giving him a drive around did the trick. Tony’s pretty sure if karma exists this will bite him in the ass sometime. (Not like karma exists at all. Nope. He’s a scientist, he’s not buying some New Age bullshit. But still, there’s a possibility until it’s been properly denied.)

Secondly, he kidnapped Captain America. Okay, basically the guy willingly came with him, but still. He sneaked him out of that military base without any permission, and then he simply… didn’t return him. Also, he kinda feels he adopted him on the way. Seems like he has a tendency to collect strays, from James through Yinsen to Steve now. (Even Happy and Pepper fit into the pattern pretty well, the only exception is Rhodey. With Honeybear, it was the other way around: Mama Rhodes and the whole family adopted Tony before he could blink an eye.) It’s not a bad thing, in theory. Rogers clearly needs some time to get his head straight, and Tony doesn’t believe for a moment that a barrack with only soldiers inside is the right environment for that. He, and his home, equipped with Jarvis who has developed some sort of expertise of handling troubled souls and PTSD sufferers (though Tony would deny till his dying day he has any kind of mental issue), is more optimal. Plus here’s the superintelligent computer program can provide all kinds of content to someone who needs information. And he won’t dump dozens of resources for each question like Tony would do simply out of enthusiasm toward the discussed topic on the poor guy, and neither will he disclose or censure any information regarding SHIELD protocols or something similar. If SHIELD wants to send shrinks (and if Cap is okay with it, which is highly unlikely given the time he’s coming from), they absolutely can send them here as well, no problem. So that’s not something to really be terrified of. Except that it means Cap will be near Tony, who had a crush on him since he was like twelve, and Steve might find out about that which would be so embarrassing. And if he’s near that means he’ll see Tony the way usually only his friends see him, and he’ll probably have an Opinion and that Opinion will most certainly going to be Negative. Which would be unbearable. And he might want to talk about Howard, since Tony is his son, and maybe about Peggy, and Tony is so fucking much not ready for the kind of shit these conversations promise.

So maybe he has a reason to be afraid.

But there’s something he didn’t count on. That is, he entertained the possibility that James would be upset, or locking himself up in his room, or doing something Overly Dramatic like backflipping from the ceiling and pinning Cap to the wall with a knife and starting to interrogate him while holding his gaze like in an action movie or something similar, but he didn’t expect this.

Because thirdly, Steve’s arrival caused James to leave.

And that is not something Tony is able to handle, let alone handle well.

Of course, he pulls his shit together in front of Cap. You definitely don’t want to have a mental breakdown in front of Captain fucking America. And Tony grew up with camera lenses aimed at him, he spent his whole life in the center of attention, so he knew how to act coolly and nonchalantly in the middle of a heartbreak.

He prolongs his breakdown until he's alone. Of course, he's living in a building that's inhabited by an artificial intelligence, so he isn’t really alone, ever, which is good, because Tony always dreaded that shit. At least Jarvis can try to comfort him while he's occasionally falling apart. Since James isn’t there to help him through it. Because for the first time since they were kind of together, Tony is falling apart not in front of James, but because of him.

It's unpleasant, to say the least.

 ***

And let’s face it, the others don’t help nearly as much as they think.

It starts with Pepper, right the first night.

“What have you done, Tony?!” she shouts on through the phone instead of a greeting.

“Uhm,” is his magnificent-as-ever response. “What length of a time period are we talking about here? Because I can assure that I’m pretty busy most days and my list of activities could be pretty impressive at any given—”

“Tony,” she cuts in, and Tony knows better than to continue when she uses that threatening tone. It’s not the ‘kindness that could actually perish any mere mortal’ tone, but it’s only a few steps below in its iciness. “Why is your boyfriend camping in my guest room?”

“Oh thank Tesla he’s there,” Tony’s breath gets ragged with relief. “I was… worried. Is he okay? Is he… How upset is he? On a scale from _‘eating ice-cream to dull the feelings’_ to ‘ _murder my ex because he has poor decision-making skills’_?”

“At least you’re aware that you fucked up,” Pepper observes drily.

“Look, I had my reasons—“

“I’m sure of that—“

“—and I can explain everything—“

“No one stops you from—“

“And I still think I did the right thing here, Pepper, are you even listening to what I’m saying?”

There’s a telltale silence from the other end of the line and Tony regrets the harsh words immediately. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes, hoping it’s not too late.

Pepper sighs. “No, you’re right. _I’m_ sorry,” she admits. “I just… James is very…”

“Broken? He’s not—“

“Delicate,” Pepper finishes, not listening to his butt in. Which is a small mercy this time. “The chance to know James is a gift reserved only for a few, and his trust is an honor even more rarely given. You can’t afford to lose it because you’d never be able to retrieve it.”

She lectures like Tony is not already totally aware of this. He’s been, even before Pepper even _knew_ about James’s existence and his part in Tony’s life. So it’s Tony’s turn to sigh. No matter how high of a horse she’s talking down from, she’s right. Absolutely right. It took a really long time for James to trust Tony. And losing this bond would kill both of them, in some way or another, and they’d never recover from such a blow.

Wouldn’t it be stupid to lose each other over _Captain America?_ Tony takes a few deep breaths as his mind not-so-helpfully offers the scenario analysis of that. “You think that’s the case now?” he asks quietly.

“No.” There’s a pause. “I think he understands you more than we think. More than me, that’s for sure,” and Tony hears from her voice she’s smiling, sad and genuine.

“I’m sorry,” he offers again and feels lame, but Pep chuckles.

“Don’t have to. If I’d wanted to be your… lover, girlfriend, or something, I’d had the chance long ago. I prefer you as a friend, Mr. Stark. Let’s face it, you’re better at this. You’re not exactly a husband material.”

“Why, Miss Potts,” and he can’t help but add a suggestive eyebrow wriggle despite none here to see it. “I’m most certainly the best party around. Even the Vanity Fair thinks so.”

“Christine is biased,” she states.

“Christine? Since when —”

“But say a word and after I hit you in your head several times in James’s behalf, I’ll let the gold diggers know you’re available again.”

“Oh, Miss Potts, you’d never!” Tony plasters his hand over his chest, feels the reassuring humming of the reactor under his fingers. While his tone is playful, he wonders when Pepper became this protective over James. But the goal is achieved: finally, she laughs. Tony notes down his success mentally and sobers up quickly. “So… what should I do? Did he tell you what happened? I couldn’t let Cap there at their hands, Pep, I simply couldn’t, he was so fucked up and alone there, and they didn’t help him at all. They planned to isolate him even more! That’s—“

“Hush, Tony. James told me what happened, and you don’t have to explain yourself to me. Not about this, at least,” she adds, because technically she’s his boss at SI now. Not like it means much: Tony lets himself be bossed around by Pepper exactly the same amount as he let it while she was his PA. Which is a lot and at the same time, a little. “It’s your home, you decide who to invite there. You have that right. But James’s the one who deserves to know your reasons, at least, since it’s his home as well by now.”

“I doubt he’d give me a chance to explain myself.”

The pregnant pause tells Pepper is not sure either.

“He watched over you for hours,” she answers finally. “I think you just have to give it some time until he sees there’s no threat here.”

***

The next one is, surprisingly, Rhodey, who beats Yinsen with a few hours. Not an easy feat, given that Rhodey is somewhere in Asia at the moment. He is less concerned about James, but he’s outright losing his shit over Steve. “Are the rumors true? Captain America’s back? Found alive? That’s what you didn’t share last time? Tones, you have to tell me everything now!”

Tony knows he’d calm down, given a few days, and he’d be his usual rock solid, seemingly indifferent self even if Tony didn’t tell him anything. But why would he restrain himself from doing so?

“But, hey, how do you know about it in the first place?” he asks after he disclosed the story.

He practically hears Rhodey’s shrug through the phone. “Remember I trained some folks? Rogers apparently borrowed the phone of one of my best. He still talks about it like it’s the greatest honor.”

“Yeah, because you’d be any different if you’d be the lucky one to lend him a phone?” Tony makes a mental note to send the ordered phone first thing tomorrow morning. Based on Rhodey’s tale the owner sounds like a good kid. He ignores Rhodey’s grumbling. “What’s his name?”

“Dominic Riley, why?”

“I’m ordering him a replacement phone because we broke his,” he explains, maybe a bit cheerfully.

He likes the playful bantering with Honeybear, its familiarity and easy way. There are no real landmines between them, nothing they don’t know about each other, nothing the other can’t bear. It gives them a break from real life, so to say. And, though everyone thinks Rhodey is the responsible one, that’s a lie. Completely. Like, he’s laughing so hard at him kidnapping Cap that he actually cries and coughs and then he wheezes for air. From anybody else, Tony would be offended at this reaction, but from his Platypus, he’s just proud. He loves to make him laugh like this.

***

He really believed Yinsen followed James and moved out. It would have been… well, understandable. He wouldn’t blame the guy, really. Tony is not used to living with other people, but he was at college for a few years, so he knows it’s not polite to bring new roommates without asking the current ones first, so he broke a more or less set in stone rule by dragging Cap into the mansion. He can also imagine he looked a bit horrorish with all the blood on him from the car accident.

But apparently, Yinsen stayed. He still lived mostly in his room where he set up his computer and he wrote his papers. Academic research doesn’t need much in terms of physical materials if you choose your subject well, and Yinsen chose something he could do mostly through the internet or in his own little lab set up in his room with his growing samples. His hobbies were what he could do alone, too: reading and jigsaw puzzles and, surprisingly, knitting, for examples. Without movie nights and shared dinners and shrink appointments, he would’ve lived like a monk.

And with James gone, there was no point of movie nights or shared dinners, so Tony didn’t emerge from the workshop and Yinsen didn’t bother. For a while, it seemed.

Because cornering Tony in the kitchen, in front of Steve, was apparently better in his book.

Seriously, fuck the kitchen. Fuck Dummy for not giving him more coffee in the first place. He’ll have to upgrade him or something.

Okay, to be fair, he knows he should’ve slept since James’s departure. A little bit at least, because even his worst engineering benders should end at some point, ideally _before_ he blows himself up with some new repulsor gadget. But the truth is, he can’t sleep.

Not since James has left. He tried, honest to god, he laid in his bed for hours watching the ceiling that he couldn’t see in the complete darkness, and he slowly went mad by his thoughts storming in his head. He dictated some of them to Jarvis to note down, but other than that, he couldn’t really help it. So he got up in the morning and felt worse than before he tried to force the rest on himself, and realized it’s probably still better this way than it would be with nightmares while there’s no one here to wake him up and calm him down. So sleeping is just… not working.

And won’t work, not until he can feel James next to him again, not until he can at least hold the familiar hand in his own while sleeping.

Tony retreats to his workshop again.

***

Fury is not thrilled, of course. At first, he orders Coulson to call Tony, but that’s a very brief conversation.

“You’ve reached the life model decoy of Tony Stark, please leave a message,” Tony deadpans into the phone.

“You’re beyond playing games, Stark,” Coulson replies. “You’ve taken Steve Rogers from his designated location.”

“Sure I did.”

“Without the proper authority.”

“Well, guess what, I still did it anyway, and you should be grateful I didn’t do more.” Tony slams the phone down.

So Fury raises the bet: he sends Romanoff. More precisely, he sends Natalie Rushman, because that cover ID remained intact after all the mess with Hammer and Vanko and everything. Pepper suggested, not like it needed much to persuade Tony.

“Mr. Stark,” she greets Tony as she walks into the mansion in a perfect blue dress, all professionalism and polite smiles. “I’ve got a few papers you need to sign and a few to discuss, do you have half an hour for me?”

Tony leads her down to the workshop, grateful that Steve’s in his room at the moment, because he doesn’t really want these two to meet. Not yet, at least, and definitely not while Natasha is playing a role instead of being herself. Cap’s a straightforward, old-fashioned guy, Tony already knows that, and it wouldn’t do good for the inter-team trust if one of the members didn’t show their true colors from the start.

The moment the workshop’s door is closed behind them, Natasha drops the act like it was an uncomfortable shoe she’s glad to get rid of. She stretches, graceful like a cat. “Gosh, don’t act like you haven’t seen me working already,” she laments.

“I did,” he agrees. “But Cap hasn’t and I’d hate to see if his disappointed look is as on point as it was on the old newsreels.”

“Oh come on, he dated the best spy back in his days,” Nat shrugs. “I honestly think we could give him a little more credit.”

Tony briefly wonders, again, when did he become the favorite of two superspies. Because he must be close to Natasha if she’s this relaxed around him – or she acts even better than anyone expects. Tony’s fast, he knows people really well, despite not showing it; and he sensed from the first moment something was off with Natalie Rushman, but he doesn’t sense anything’s off this time. _This_ seems like the real Natasha, if there’s even something like that in existence. But Tony is fairly positive that there is. He’s sure because he himself has been playing roles all through his life, so he knows the drill: there has to be a real persona behind all of this to not to go mad from all the pretending. Instead of saying his observations out loud, he asks.

“Who’s we?”

“You already knows the answer,” she brushes him off, and takes a seat on the couch, unfolding herself without hesitation. “How’s he doing, by the way?”

“Poorly and spectacularly at the same time. Are we really going to gossip about him behind his back?”

“It’s not gossiping, it’s intel, and you know we care about his wellbeing. You took him away so we can’t personally examine him.”

“Yeah, you care.” Tony sounds more bitter than he planned. “That’s why Fury planned to get him out of the base and set him up to be alone for what, a month?”

Natasha straightens.

“I didn’t know anything about that.”

Tony believes her. They have a nice half hour nevertheless, not speaking more about Steve Rogers, but of Pepper and their shared horse-riding trip the day before and new robotics inventions and such.

As he runs out of agents to send, Fury himself had to call Tony. He didn’t show up personally, of course, not that it stopped Tony from yelling.

“Yes, I KIDNAPPED CAPTAIN AMERICA! Good luck with arresting me on the behalf of a citizen currently not existing!” he snaps.

“We’re working on that,” Fury says.

“Yeah, by setting him up to be a lonely lumberjack?” Tony’s sarcasm could cut glass.

“You’re not cleared for any information regarding—“

“Jesus fucking Christ, Nick! Are you even listening to yourself?” Tony breathes out in disbelief. “You wanted to… a cabin in the woods? Really? Are you out of your goddamned mind?”

“It’s not your business, Stark.”

Tony’s pretty sure at the moment Fury’s regretting involving Tony at any degree with the Avengers Initiative, let alone promising him to lead them. If it wasn’t _his_ team, Tony probably wouldn’t cause so much headache for everyone. But Tony’s glad he’s involved. It seems he’s the only who cares about Steve Rogers, not just Captain America, not just the national icon, but the man as well.

“You won’t send him away to go nuts in a fucking isolation chamber, no matter how close to nature it may be. We’re not in the ‘70s, for fuck’s sake, Fury. The guy needs more time to adapt to the new century, sending him away won’t cause any good. Even I can clearly see it and I’m not really an authentic advocate of mental health myself!”

“It wasn’t my idea.”

“I don’t care whose brilliant idea it was, Nick. Fire that idiot, by the way. Rogers won’t go nuts in the mountains if I can do anything about it. He stays here, or he can go back to the soldiers, but you won’t send him to solitary confinement.”

“Are you… threatening me, Stark?” Fury sounds baffled.

“Of course not. I just stated the facts. I have enough influence to make you rethink every decision twice, and I’m willing to live up to my reputation as an irritating ass if you fuck around with me or with Rogers.”

“You’re on a really thin ice, Stark.”

“Guess what? I’ve been on it my whole life in some way or another,” Tony laughs bitterly and ends the connection. SI will lose some points in the stock market for sure, and Pepper won’t be thrilled, but if that’s what it cost to save Steve from being sent away to the middle of nothing, then so be it. “Bite it,” he says to the phone in his hand, then stomps out to find Steve. After all, his house is not much better than solitary confinement if someone doesn’t offer company to that poor guy, and he doubts Yinsen is as entertaining now as he was before his depression.

***

Talking to James supposed to be easier. It isn’t.

There’s an awfully long and terribly awkward silence, or at least Tony feels so. Objectively, it lasts around fifteen seconds before he bursts into a swarm of words to fill it.

“Okay, I know you’re mad, and you have every right to be, I broke the taboo and I should’ve warned you before bringing Cap here, but I swear to the name of Einstein I didn’t intend to offend you or anything, you know how poor my impulse control is and you should’ve seen him, he’s worse than a lost puppy that was kicked to boot, I couldn’t let that stand. Also, the military would’ve killed me if I let him go back still bleeding. Which was my fault. And his blood, not mine. I wore seatbelt, but he didn’t, so he got injured when I braked. Honestly, he should be dead, just saying, because we were going pretty fast, but, well, supersoldiers defying physics and their superhealing defying biology, I think you could tell tales about that, and now I’ve put my feet into my mouth again, great. Please say something because I’m gonna get an aneurysm or something here if you go mute again on me like you did at the first time.”

There’s a sigh from the other end of the line.

“I just hope you know what you’re doing, Tony,” James says.

“As ever.”

“That’s not much. Listen… I watch. You, I mean. To be safe. But I can’t… I can’t risk… I can’t be near, not yet,” he stumbles with the words and manages to mutter in the end. “And like you said, he’s a supersoldier. If he decides to harm you, I doubt anyone’d be able to stop him in time, if you let him so close to yourself. Even me… not even I—”

“He’s not a threat, James. He’s not a… he’s not a Winter Soldier.”

“That’s what they told you. That’s what they think. But in fact all you know for sure is that you’ve found him after decades of searching without luck. You know the coordinates, you know the setup. You _can’t_ know for sure if he’d been there the whole time or not. You don’t know what seventy years of hibernation did to him if he _was_ there the whole time. You know nothing.”

“Don’t quote Game of Thrones at me, I swear to God…” Tony presses his palm to his eyes, hearing the _Jon Snow_ at the end of the sentence without it being said. James is starting to become quite a geek. “I might not know all of what you’ve mentioned, but I know the guy I’ve spent the day with. And he’s just lost, not dangerous. Not a trained agent. He’s straight out of the forties.”

“Or that’s his act.”

“You’re terrible.”

“It kept me alive until now.”

“I can recall,” Tony can’t suppress the sarcasm from his voice. “You were terrible at acting as well, I must remind you.”

James doesn’t answer, but he makes his breaths audible so Tony knows he’s still there. This time, Tony bites his tongue and waits. And waits. He knows he almost always loses his patience and starts to talk first, but it’s important now, so he taps with his fingers and drums with his feet and waits.

Finally, James sighs again. “I know you’re probably right,” he admits.

“But…?”

“I can’t.” James sounds miserable. “I can’t.”

“What can’t you?” Tony tries to be and sound as gentle as he could. And he knows he can. He talks like he would with a small upset kid.

“I can’t be near him. He makes me…”

Tony mutely finishes the sentence when James can’t: _he makes me remember everything._ At least he hopes he interprets it right, based on everything he knows about James by now.

“What terrifies you this much?”

“You don’t want to know,” James says and hangs up to escape the conversation. (Dammit, he does this a lot.) Tony stares at the screen for a long time, feeling utterly betrayed, before he goes back to his work.

He has to give James time. He knows. He even understands. It’s just as hard for him as it is for Cap, and his heart bleeds for both of them.

But understanding doesn’t make it easier to bear.

Would any of them care how hard it is for _him?_

***

Natasha calls often. She is designated to collect the necessary intel on Rogers’s wellbeing, she explains cheerfully – either she realized honesty will bring her the closest to fulfilling her mission or she really trust him this much, Tony can’t tell. Not through phone conversation, for sure. He has the same response all the time: Steve’s doing well. He’s adjusting. He’s fine.

No way in hell will he gossip about him, not even with Romanoff. He doesn’t tell what Jarvis sees. Cap uses Google like his life depends on it. Cap can’t bring himself to ask questions directly from the talking ceiling, but he’s willing to communicate with the AI in the form of text and chat. So his new Stark Phone is used even more excessively. The login info tells Steve doesn’t really sleep, at all, but Tony won’t be the one to judge him for it.

Especially not after his only relatively good sleep happens with the guy’s head practically in his lap.

Saying Tony feels mortified when he wakes up, that would be an understatement. But Dummy pours coffee after his creator completed at least three sleep cycles at once, so there’s that. And if Steve avoids the workshop after that, Tony can’t blame him.

Natasha also asks about James.

Tony spits his drink through his holograms the first time she does.

“Don’t get drowned,” Natasha says delightfully.

“What the he—“

“Oh, he didn’t mention we know each other?”

“I knew about that,” Tony remarks drily, because seriously, fuck spies and their fascination with being smartasses. Or maybe it’s just these two. “I didn’t know you’re still… keeping in touch.”

“Well, that would be a stretch, but I like to be aware of his… state and location, so to say.” Her voice gets that natural, distracted tone that indicates she’s distancing herself from the conversation. Tony needed some time to figure out its meaning, but at least he recognizes it by now.

“Why is everyone so paranoid around me?” he complains.

“Mostly it keeps us alive.”

Tony grunts. “You’re so predictable.”

She doesn’t answer, just waits. She doesn’t say out loud that they were trained together, _by each other_ , Tony guesses. And she knows very well that Tony can’t stand silence and will fill it with something. He holds himself back as long as he’s capable of. Twenty-seven seconds later he gives up. He should trust Natasha, after all. She’ll be an Avenger soon. And the double agent among them, possibly, the one to report back their behavior to SHIELD, but that’s another story. She didn’t mention James at any of her official reports so far, so Tony has no reason to think she’d start it by now “James is not here right now but you don’t have to worry about him.”

There’s a pause, before Natasha answers, slower than usual. “The thing is, I tend to worry a lot. Have a nice day, Mr. Stark.”

Tony stares at the phone for a long time after that.

Then he pulls up a screen to work a bit more on the special weapons he’s designing for her. Jarvis found some interesting blueprints called Widow’s Bites on a SHIELD server and Tony wants to improve them as much as possible.

***

“When you decide to finally come home, I’ll snuggle you for a day straight,” he threatens James.

“Jarvis says you should sleep more, Tony,” James answers with his most worried tone.

“Wait, no protesting at all?” He can’t perceive the barely audible answer, but it resembles an exasperated growl. “I’ll take that as agreement, I guess.”

James sighs, and stays silent for a while. Then he answers to another confession, made _days_ ago – that time when Tony begged him to come home. “I miss you too, Mechanic.”

 

Other times, they avoid talking about their situation at all.

“I’m staring into Pepper’s fridge, and let me tell you, I’m really worried about her,” James announces. Tony’s mind whirls over the possibilities in the speed of light.

“Okay, does she really keep the decapitated head of her enemies inside? That’d be gross. Please tell me it’s only weed you’ve found.”

“What? No. It’s salad! Edible, I think.” James sniffs. “Still, I have to agree with the gross part.”

“Women are a mystery, sweetheart.”

James hums his agreement and Tony makes sure Jarvis sends some takeout food to Pepper’s apartment. Enough for, like, five people’s week-long meals. He’s just this generous, and Pepper should appreciate it more instead of yelling about waste and ignorance.

***

A week pass and Tony realizes he should find some hobbies. Well, hobbies that don’t include a) engineering and b) staring at his boyfriend and c) touching his boyfriend. Because now the last two is not possible, which limits his options pretty much. Whenever he tries to come up with something else to do, his mind goes blank, and he hates it.

He borrows one of Yinsen’s jigsaw puzzles. It takes around half an hour for him to throw the thing in the bin with furious disgust.

He visits the gym, then to the shooting range, but both of these seems so cold and empty without James, like an abandoned landscape after a zombie apocalypse, so he flees almost immediately.

He goes to a car ride, strictly with Happy following close, but even his excitement getting through their speaker phone connection while they’re racing each other can’t really end the boredom of it.

The thing that is able to moderately lift his bad mood is, not surprisingly, his flight in the armor. One tiny trip to the sky above is enough for him to yell in excitement as his stomach drops from a cork-screw maneuver, as he spins and practices his movements. He loves the freedom the suit gives him: no one there to judge him, no one there to even _see_ him, no one to be anxious about. Since he brought the airway above his mansion (it wasn’t easy, but Rhodey managed to make sure the military didn’t put up a fight about him being the first civilian to own several air corridors), he didn’t have to worry about any plane or other disturbance. He flies high, then higher and higher, enjoying that the icing can’t cause more trouble to him, he flies until he sees the dark curve of the globe, and then he stops to admire the beauty of it. He’s literally on the brink of space, and it’s terrifying, yes, but it’s also magnificent. “One day,” he promises to Jarvis. “One day I’ll be the first man to fly into space.”

He flies occasionally to New York, finishing the last smooths on Stark Tower.

***

But there is one other thing that is good to his mood, and that is a surprise, because that one is called _Steve Rogers_. Who, by all means, seems to enjoy Tony’s company, at least based on the fact that he spends 70% of his awake time in the workshop.

Well, the number is according to Jarvis’s calculation. Not like he asked. Or cared. Obviously. Steve is nice to be around, that’s all.

So nice, actually, that Tony is too scared to mention this part to James. Would he be angry about it? Would he be upset? Tony doesn’t want to risk. So he doesn’t talk about it with anyone, either, because discussing a topic he can’t talk about with his boyfriend tastes too much like cheating on him. Okay, maybe this logic is a bit far-fetched and twisted, but Tony considers himself to be loyal if he cares. And he cares with James. That’s why feeling so good with Rogers is so confusing.

First Tony was nervous, of course. But Steve remained polite and kind all the time, and he treated the bots with such genuine care and gentleness it immediately melted Tony’s heart. Rogers had no idea how to treat robots, of course, so he did everything like he would’ve done with a human being. Which made him U’s and Dummy’s new favorite person in the world. (Butterfingers, bless him, was more suspicious than his siblings, and kept his distance for a while.) Steve shook “hands” with them, and asked them questions and did his best to interpret their nonverbal answers and all in all, Tony had to pretend like he didn't pay particular attention because otherwise he might’ve acted stupidly.

Stupidly, like giving in to the urge to plant a kiss on the guy’s cheek.

***

They also talk. Like, a lot.

Because Tony talks a lot, and Steve listens intently, and holy shit, he’s probably the first person not to interrupt him, ever. He doesn’t need to, because Rogers has perfect memory, of course, so he takes in every stupid word Tony says and he casually asks about them a day later - after he made some research on the topic, or after he took his time to think about it, or whatever his process is, but he brings it up himself, and every time it happens Tony is baffled. One, because Steve _really_ listened to all those ramblings, and two, because he really cared about them enough to keep them on his mind.

He wonders, though, about something missing, and it takes a ridiculously long amount of time until he realizes. Aunt Peggy always talked poetry about Roger’s artistic skills and how he grabbed every opportunity even in the trenches to do some drawing and sketching. It takes a ridiculously long time until Tony realizes he hasn’t seen the guy drawing anything since he arrived at the mansion.

Of course Tony has to think about this fact all night while he tinkers on U’s monthly sensory update and watches Cap out of the corner of his eyes during the whole time. Rogers’s hand seems to be glued to his phone nowadays, always reading and searching something on the internet when not engaging in a conversation with someone, because he’s also that old-fashioned guy who always closes every app and pockets electronics and looks the partner in the eyes when talking with them. In addition he has those baby blue, embarrassingly honest eyes that makes Tony reevaluate all his life decisions. So having a Talk with Steve Rogers should be said in capital letters, even if it’s only about milk types. (Apparently, the variety of grocery items available fascinate Rogers, as it turns out after his first visit to the city.) Tony plans to bring up the drawing topic several times, but chickens out each time.

Around six in the morning when Steve leaves the workshop to fetch more coffee from the kitchen for both of them, Tony orders all kinds of art supplies. It’s better to assume he just needs the tools handed to him than to actually ask why he doesn’t use what’s available – even though Tony’s pretty sure that’s not the problem. If he was able to draw during the war with the worst materials, he would be able to do it now with a biro pen as well.

Tony has a pretty educated guess why Steve doesn’t draw now. But he can’t bring it up.

Maybe the package will help to start that conversation.

And until that, he has a baby to lit up. He breaks his speed record on his way to New York, wields some metal underwater and starts up the new ARC-reactor with the one in his chest. It still needs a boost in the beginning, but after the ignition it’ll go on itself for at least a year. Probably more, but it’s hard to calculate without usage data first.

He drinks a flute of champagne with Pepper at the main living room of the upper-floor private areas, and Tony’s happy, he really is, but at the same time, he feels miserable.

“The others should’ve been here too,” he mutters, mostly to himself. Pepper’s hand squeezes his shoulder. “Which, by the way, reminds me,” Tony continues immediately sidestepping, because he has to distract himself. He can’t afford to let Pepper hug him now, otherwise he’d cry, and that would be humiliating. “The birds are chirping you’re going to introduce someone to us.”

Pepper meets his gaze. “Is this really your most important concern right now?”

But she doesn’t doesn’t bother to outright deny it, therefore it might even be true as well. Or Pepper is messing with him, because she knows he needs something to ponder about instead of James. Not even Tony can be sure, she knows him well enough for it…

***

They don’t have a chance to talk about art with Steve because shortly after Tony arrives back at the mansion, way before the delivery service appears, they have a guest.

It’s the Black Widow.

Not Natalie Rushman. She’s in her SHIELD uniform, tight but flexible body armor (of a material Tony desperately wants to study) around her frame, and she comes into the workshop without any hesitation, even though Steve’s there too. Cap jumps to his feet immediately, though at least he doesn’t salute or bow.

“Captain Rogers,” Romanoff nods professionally and shows her hands that hold no weapons. But she has a file in them. “Mr. Stark,” he greets Tony as well. “Sorry if I’m interrupting anything.”

Tony studies her, then he introduces them, and he uses Natasha’s name – the real one, as far as he knows. She doesn’t flinch, so he assumes she doesn’t mind, and Steve doesn’t protest either when Tony links his name and title together.

“I have an assignment for the both of you,” she says.

She takes one file and puts it on the workbench in front of Tony (knows better than to hand it), but Steve reaches for his own. As he flips it open, his face turns into a grimace. “What’s this?”

“I’ve been informed you know that very well.”

While Steve’s info package is on paper, Tony got the digital version. He throws the data into the air, trusting Jarvis to catch and project all of it around him in a pattern easy to follow, and he doesn’t disappoint. The first thing that catches Tony’s attention is the bright, glowing blue cube he has vague memories about.

“You must’ve been misinformed, Ma’am,” Steve says so blankly that Tony has to look over. Cap’s shoulders are nearly level with his ears.

“Howard Stark found it when he was looking after you,” she explains, and the information shards in Tony’s mind fall into place. Yes – he saw his father with this thing. He experimented on it while Tony was a little kid.

“Probably, Ma’am,” Steve shrugs and he sinks his hands into his pockets awkwardly, like he doesn’t really know what to do with his arms. “What does SHIELD expects from us?”

Natasha’s eyes follow his movements like a lion watches and antelope.

“We’d like to know if you have any useful information about this thing.”

“I’ve never seen this cube in my life,” Steve lies.

“It’s called the Tesseract,” Tony interjects, because Cap is apparently a terrible liar. “I guess my father gave it to SHIELD.”

“It’s been SHIELDs property since ’45,” Romanoff corrects him. “That is, until it’s been taken from us.”

She quickly explains the situation: a Norse demigod showed up and stole the damned thing that is assumed to be an infinite power source, and ruined a whole facility on his way out. Oh, and also he’s able to turn men’s loyalties to his side. Steve looks more and more irritated as he listens, but he doesn’t comment on the past events.

“What does SHIELD want us to do?” he asks again instead.

“Just to save the world again,” Romanoff smiles innocently. “Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner could help us locate the cube, it can’t remain in enemy hands. And you, Captain, could help retrieve it. We assume you’re the best candidate to match the demigod in a combat situation.”

“You shouldn’t have lost it if it’s this dangerous,” Steve comments with such sarcasm it almost hurts to hear.

“We’ll take care next time, if you’re ready to do your job to retrieve it,” Natasha smiles back, and for a brief moment Tony thinks he hears Pepper from someone else’s mouth, this killer-sweet-kind tone is so similar.

“I wasn’t aware I’m still employed by the military.”

Natasha doesn’t flinch. Tony does.

“It’s a one-time job offer from SHIELD. Can be extended indefinitely, if you’d like.”

Steve holds the eye contact steadily, and he doesn’t smile. “I’ll think about it, Miss Romanoff.” At least his promise is honest, and that’s the most Natasha can get now. So she turns on her heels and leaves.

The moment she’s out of sight, Steve lets his head fall back until it hits the couch cushions, and he groans, eyes shut tightly, all muscles tense.

“You all right?”

“God, you have no idea how much I HATE that stupid thing.”

Tony nods. He can hear – the emotions practically vibrate through Steve’s voice. “You’re a terrible liar, by the way,” he answers, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

Steve opens one eye. “Wait till we’re playing poker.”

Tony’s almost startled by his own chuckle.

“Will you help them? After I’ve found the cube, I mean?”

“Of course.” Steve shrugs, like it’s that obvious.

“You don’t have to, y’know. No one’d think you less if you’d want to… take your time, or if you’d want to live in peace or anything. You have that choice, too.”

To these words, Steve sits up properly and looks at Tony’s face. “I always have a choice,” he says sternly. “And I’ll always choose the right thing, as much as I can. This cube… the Tesseract is powerful and it… I’ve seen what it can cause in the wrong hands. I know what the Red Skull did with it. I have to stop that from happening again. I should’ve completely stopped it seventy years ago.” He pauses for a moment and lets the bitterness take over his voice. “Howard shoulda left it at the bottom of the ocean.”

Tony’s speechless for a few moments. “And I thought you haven’t seen it in your life,” he teases then. Steve growls again and falls back among the cushions. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have to locate an evil glowstick cube for the greater good.”

Tony turns to his screens. Steve stays where he is, but he nods and remains silent to not to bother him.

“Jarvis, call Doctor Banner, I think we have some things to work out. I hope SHIELD gave him a nice lab already, I have a feeling we’ll need it.”

***

Tony works all night, but more importantly, he has some time in the morning to be alone and make some calls. He tries to reach Rhodey, to no avail – he’s probably busy with his official job, shame on him. Tony’d love to have him near, but at the same time, he’s a bit guilty to feel relieved that his best friend is away from the immediate danger zone, and doesn’t seem likely to be in the midst of it in the near future either. Which is good.

He calls Pepper. Her voicemail reminds the caller that Miss Potts is at an important meeting right now, but will call them back as soon as possible.

So Tony has no further excuse to delay and has to make the call he fears.

He dials James.

Explaining the situation is not hard at first. Not until they’re at the part which contains the possibility that Iron Man and Captain America will go on a mission together to capture a supernatural being with an unlimited power source in its hand. Yeah, if Tony is honest with himself, he’d admit it doesn’t sound any good.

“Please, James,” he begs. “Stay home. We can handle it, I promise. I’ve been doing this Iron Man business for months, you know I’m safe in the armor.”

This is at the edge of a blatant lie. The suit is far from invincible or impenetrable, but it’s still the best protection any earthly technology could offer to one. Of fucking course, it’s not nearly enough for James.

“No way,” he says, and his voice could be steel as well, not faltering at all. “I’m coming too.”

“Honey. I’m safe with Cap, we’re over this a couple of times. And we’ll be bringing Loki back to SHIELD.”

There’s a pause from the other end of the phone. “That settles it,” James announces. “I won’t leave you alone among spies and agents.”

Tony has the urge to facepalm. “Are you insane, darling? If I remember correctly, there are quite a few things you like to avoid, but SHIELD, spies, and Cap are pretty high priority on your list!” He can’t filter the sarcasm out of his voice.

“I don’t care!” James practically shouts. “You’re more important than the rules,” he growls.

“I’m… pretty sure it’s hilarious, but I’m _really_ concerned about your priorities right now.”

“Now it’s your time,” James answers instead of actually reacting to these words. “It’s _your_ time to trust _me_ , Mechanic. And… don’t worry, okay? It’ll be _fine._ ”

With that, James hangs up the phone.

Tony is not so little terrified of what is this supposed to mean, and he’s pretty concerned he’ll learn it soon. “I’ve always trusted you,” he murmurs to the empty line.

It’s not like he could do anything about it at the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will kickstart the events finally, stay tuned! I'm going to a ball tomorrow, but I hope I'll be able to post before it. The bad news: as we're going, I'm getting closer to run out of chapters. After the next one, each still need at least heavy editing before posting. I'm trying to stick with my schedule, but real life is also happening and there's a chance you'll have to wait one-two more days for a chapter. I'm really, really sorry for this inconvenience, and'll do my best to post as fast and smooth as possible, while not dropping the quality.  
> As usual, feel free to concrit, to correct my mistakes, to ask questions or start conversations, here or on my tumblr! :)


	8. Steve

He clearly wishes too much from the universe. He never imagined he’d have to see that damned cube again, but here he is, staring at it on a file that states it as a zero-eight-four, named Tesseract, and lists a bunch of experiments with the people who performed them. Because apparently SHIELD wants to save the world with clean energy or something, and this cube could possibly give them what they want.

Steve doesn’t buy it for a second. SHIELD is an intelligence agency, and thought that doesn’t mean they can’t have humanitarian goals as well, it really means their purposes are closer to military than to anything else. And Howard knew what this cube was capable of. He knew about Hydra’s weapons, he studied them. The file doesn’t say a word about weapon experiments. Steve knows Howard too much to believe that.

Which means the file is insufficient.

Which means that either SHIELD doesn’t trust Steve enough to give him full intel and yet they expect him to cooperate, or they think he’s this dumb. Neither option sounds good. Yes, Steve might not be the brightest one, especially not in the company of a Stark who is the literal genius in many ways, but he’s not stupid either.

That’s one of the reasons why he lied to Agent Romanoff. The other is: he’s still not sure if he wants to be involved with SHIELD. Saving the world? Yes, he’s on board with that any day. Getting the Tesseract back? _Hell_ yeah. He’s the reason it’s out there, after all. He’s the one who let it fall into the ocean after it vaporized the Red Skull. But working for anybody in the long run, being the muscle for anyone… he’s not sure he’s comfortable with that – at least not until he understands this century a bit better, until he’s able to tell what’s going on. He doesn’t have to be on point always, he’d still be comfortable with being in the know half the time.

Not like any of it matters in this particular case. He’ll help, of course, but he’ll make sure to know what happens with that damned cube after they retrieved it. He won’t lose it from his sight again. But first they have to know where to send Steve, and Tony’s the one to do that part of the job, so Steve sits back and stays silent. He’s doing his best to be as insignificant as possible, though it was a long time ago since he had to try that. It was much more easier before he got turned into a giant, at least compared to his size before Rebirth.

As usual, he watches in awe how Tony is working . Knowing someone is a genius in theory is one thing, but witnessing it firsthand is another – and when lost to the world in a problem-solving frenzy, Tony is even more gorgeous than normally. And even less comprehensible. Steve starts to take notes quietly on his phone, but he gives up after a while. As far as he can see, Tony is learning a new science field right in front of his ears and eyes.

It’s more than fascinating.

Even the other genius at the other end of the phone line is amazed by it. Steve has met Doctor Banner, but he wasn’t aware the doctor was more than simply one of the labcoats who studied him while he was unconscious. They didn’t talk much at that time, to be fair; Steve wasn’t in a chatty mood, and Doctor Banner didn’t push it either, so they performed the needed tests mostly in silence.

In their elements, the scientists are much more verbal. Steve doesn’t understand a thing. He’s pretty sure even the conjunctions are used in their latin (or other foreign sciency language) forms.

Around one o’clock, Dummy rolls behind the couch and gently lays its head on Steve’s shoulder. Twenty minutes later the robot Tony simply calls ‘You’ joins its sibling from the other side and his claws end up in Steve’s lap, who absent-mindedly starts to stroke them. He’s pretty sure the purring sound is of approval. Steve still has no idea what are these robots, what their purpose is and why do they act like housecats, but he’s not the one to complain.

***

Steve falls asleep on the workshop’s couch. In the morning, realizing Tony still didn’t sleep at all, Steve gently but sternly guides him to the bedroom, like he saw from Miss Potts, and spends a few hours guarding Tony’s sleep. He remembers this from the war: how people were ready to burn themselves out in order to get the job done, and he also remembers how it got people killed on the field. Tony might not be the one to fight, but it doesn’t necessarily mean he doesn’t need his skills sharp and his mind clear. Lack of sleep could strip that away from anyone, genius or not.

***

Well.

So much for not being in the field.

When Steve watched Tony being embraced by a weaponized body armor suit, by a thing he assumed to be just a pretty statue, part of an art collection or something, he was speechless. He was amazed. He was _delighted_ , even.

Witnessing him actually fight in the suit is even more mesmerizing. Iron Man is graceful in his bulkiness, elegant in his brutality, and really, _really_ effective. To be honest, Steve is not even surprised, knowing it’s Tony’s own design. It’s magnificent. It’s dynamic. It’s genius.

What is surprising, though, is the fact how well Iron Man fights with Captain America. For some brief moments, Steve forgets he’s in a foreign time in a foreign city. All he feels is the connection, the fact he knows where his partner will be in the next second and that he can expect the same in return. He has no idea how Tony does it. He has no idea how _he_ himself does it.

But he watched Tony so much in the past weeks in the workshop he feels like he knows the man almost as much as himself. (Even if that isn’t _really_ much.) It’s still not how fighting with Bucky was. First, no one will ever be able to replace Bucky and the hole he left with his fall. Second, Steve’s new uniform is way more uncomfortable than the ones he wore during the war. Those were especially tailored for him, unlike to the new one SHIELD delivered to the mansion, which feels like it’s a size smaller than necessary and way less practical.

Still, Steve’d lie if he denied he was having a good time and by the time they capture Loki in Stuttgart he’s happier than he felt since his defrosting. After all, none more got injured thanks to their intervention, they secured their target and prevented him from finishing his crazy power demonstration. He feels… content. He feels like he knows what to do, for a change.

He feels like he could get used to this.

Agent Romanoff arrives shortly after with a quinjet, which is apparently a fancy high-tech plane nowadays, and Loki is escorted away from the gathering crowd, secured by the three of them.

The only thing that makes Steve uneasy is the demigod’s smirk while he’s scanning the humans around him.

***

The helicarrier is amazing. Tony’s mansion was futuristic in a domestic way, but that ship is like straight out of the sci-fi books Bucky loved the most.

Steve tries not to imagine how excited Buck would be if he’d get the chance to see all these. Thinking about him still hurts too much. He wonders if he should write another letter, since he felt better after the first one was composed - and destroyed shortly afterwards. But he’s not sure that it’s not the sign of him losing his mind, collapsing under the pressure of his situation, and he refuses to be crazy. He has to go on. He knows this. And he has Tony on his side, which is already way better than he expected the future could turn out to be, so he has no real reason to complain.

Despite their rocky way back to the base, which included one more angry demigod and a fight with him, they manage to arrive safely and Miss Romanoff again joins them immediately.

“Nice to see you on board,” she greets them, then cocks her head sideways. “What’s the frown for, Captain?”

Steve didn’t realize he was frowning as they stand in a loose semi-circle and watch Loki being escorted away. He’s not sure if he should voice his concerns, if he should trust any of these people, but then he decides he has to open up a bit. Romanoff didn’t do anything so far to earn his mistrust.

“It was too easy. Loki had the chance to escape but he decided to stay and watch instead.”

“Why won’t we go inside and talk this out in details? Debrief is waiting, and there is someone else to meet.” There’s a glint of mischievous light in her eyes. “Soon it won’t be easy to breathe out here anyway.”

Steve looks at Iron Man a bit startled at this, but Tony just nods – lack of eye contact is not ideal, Steve notes to himself –, and they follow Romanoff inside as the helicarrier takes off from the water, revealing its ability to fly.

Steve briefly wonders if there are flying cars too, withheld for military purposes only. Howard promised them, after all.

***

Being in the helicarrier is… awkward.

An intern bumps into Steve on the corridor. He’s pretty sure she did it on purpose.

An agent walks away next to them, then he freezes, blinks several times as his mind process the scene, and moves backwards a few step to be in front of them again. Then he gapes for breath and asks for Iron Man’s autograph. “For my son, he’s, he’s eight years old,” the man, agent Blackwell according to his name tag, explains.

Two agents walk past them straight-faced, but they’re not even out of earshot when they burst out giggling and squeaking about Captain America.

Steve can’t help it, he moves closer to Iron Man as he straightens his spine. “Is it always like this when you’re out?” he whispers, barely audible, trusting the robotic suit to catch his voice anyway.

“Sometimes worse,” Tony answers cheerfully, his voice slightly modulated by the speaker system. “Smile, Cap, they’re harmless. Feel the love and all.”

A woman comes closer and asks for a selfie. Steve has no idea what a selfie is, but Iron Man nods, and Agent Romanoff moves away. Turns out taking a selfie is the future equivalent of making a photograph. At least she doesn’t ask for autograph, because the picture is in the phone, not on paper.

“Are we there yet?” Steve murmurs, hoping that the debriefing will be behind closed doors. “Seriously, these folks don’t look like trained professionals to me.”

“They’re not field agents,” Romanoff butts in. “Technicians, assistants, analysts, all kinds of background and office workers are here as well. Some of them are barely any different than a civilian. And Captain, I must say, you really look damn fine in this uniform.” She winks, and Steve has to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“I need to change as soon as possible.”

***

Debriefing happens in the ship’s bridge, because the Director of SHIELD personally wants to hear about the events. Steve’d still prefer a small debriefing room over the large open space surrounded by transparent wall panels and full of people, half of them really working and the other half only pretending to be deep in their projects in favor of sparing glances toward the mismatched group of arrivees, all of them still in their respective uniforms. If they can call their suits that. Agent Romanoff at least seems like a professional – Steve feels more like the dancing monkey he was on his stage days. His suit’s material doesn’t even feel to be _bulletproof_. It has _zippers_ that have no function at all except, maybe, to be fashionable, or giving chance to the enemy to grab it as a distraction. (The so called pockets are too small to hold even a clip of bullets in them, and their placings are impractical as well.) And Iron Man is… well. There’s no way not staring at him, so at least Steve can understand the SHIELD staff on that.

“Doctor,” Steve shakes hands with Bruce Banner. At least his face is familiar, and seemingly he feels the most uncomfortable in the situation among everyone. Steve wishes he could ease that discomfort somehow, but he has no idea what causes it, so he lets it go for now.

The agent who joins them is called Phil Coulson, and Natasha greets him with a warm handshake and the brightest smile she gave to anyone so far. Steve assumes they’re friends. “Any news about him?” she asks immediately. Coulson shakes his head, and doesn’t let go of her hand for a moment. “We’re doing everything, you know that.” They share a glance, then the moment is over and they’re back to their… well, professional selves, for the lack of better word.

Agent Coulson sticks to Steve’s side like they’re invisibly tied together. He keeps his distance, of course, but he makes sure to never step more than five feet away and honestly. It’s awkward. Romanoff’s know-at-all smile on top of it adds to the irritation. Steve relaxed into a parade rest at first, ready to report, but stiffens up pretty quickly.

“Easy there, we’ve won,” Tony warns him, and a pair of hands in gauntlets push him down to a chair.

“I’m not convinced,” he answers, and looks at Thor who is joining them. He looks like he’s out of a medieval painting, or more like out of a mythology lexicon. Steve remembers a fairy tale book from his childhood, the one he liked the most because his Ma always read it to him when he got the fever, full of fae and knights and travels in mysterious lands. Thor looks like an illustration of a noble sidhe warrior.

“I cannot assure you in your victory,” Thor answers. “At my home, my brother is known as the God of Mischief, the Trickster God. All I can say that your prisoner by no doubt is him.”

“What’s his game?” Coulson, because he’s the one who met the Asgardian before, asks. Thor explains, as much as he can, but that’s not much.

“An _army_. From _outer space_.”

Enough for Steve to be tired of it already.

Agent Romanoff interrogates Loki, and they’re allowed to watch it through live feed. Steve studies Loki on the tiny screen, from his mannerisms to his words, and he makes sure to remember the details. He has a vague feeling they’re missing something, but he’d need a bit more time to figure out what, exactly.

They’re dismissed after,or at least they’re free to leave the bridge. Doctor Banner and Tony head toward the Doctor’s workplace, already bickering about Science that no one else understands, and Steve follows them by default (what else should he do), and Thor seemingly decides to stick with them as well.

***

Tony beats him at changing. Steve has no idea when he had the chance to slip away. Last time Natasha was bickering with him – something along the ways _'oh, tin can, where are you going? have a date with your boyfriend? I bet the C-06 supply closet on Section D is a perfect place for a date!_ ’, which, okay, Steve should’ve realized was a joke and without meaning but was too busy having a little mental breakdown over it – and now Tony’s standing here and his shirt has a strange emblem that Steve learned is a sigil of a musical band Tony likes.

At least they’re away from everyone’s staring, even managed to lose Agent Coulson. That bridge was crazy uncomfortable, despite the magnificent design. Doctor Banner seems more relaxed as he’s working with some scanner equipment, Tony pats away on semi-transparent screens, at least on three simultaneously in any given moment. Steve’s there to watch (and to shoot hurtful and hateful glances toward that damned staff Loki used because that shit is too much similar to a Hydra weapon to not to), because he’s still fascinated easily by modern tech and because honestly, he has nothing better to do. He doesn’t even know if he has a designated place he could be instead of here.

So the only mystery that remains is the presence of Agent Romanoff and Thor.

“Oh come on!” Tony scoffs. “Call her Natasha already, she won’t bite!” He seems to think about this for a brief moment. “At least, not you.”

“Oh wow, Tony, have you learned this from your sweetheart?” Natasha bats her eyelashes at them, and while Steve can’t help his blushing, he feels his stomach in his throat. She really likes to joke about Colonel Rhodes. Can a woman like her be jealous? Steve doubts it.

“Don’t be rude, Tony,” Steve calls out because apparently people are waiting for his response. “It’s a lady’s duty to offer first name basis when she feels comfortable about it.”

“Well said, friend,” Thor booms. He stayed close to the door, his enormous arms crossed in front of his chest. Steve is not a little fella anymore, but even he recognizes how _huge_ this guy is. If Steve’d been anyone else, he’d be intimidated, but he spent most of his life as the smallest among the lot, so he feels more comfortable than he’d ever admit. Thor reminds him of his old self. “I understand, Man of Iron, that you mean no harm, but manners are a warrior’s aid when he’s not on the battlefield, and even there they can be helpful.”

“Oh please,” Tony scoffs. “Like you were all of manners a few hours ago. I only learn the rules to be able to properly break them. What’s the fun of following? You gain nothing new with that.”

“Yeah, that’s why you need someone to look after you all the time,” Romanoff butts in, and sits on a table. “Anyway, Captain Rogers, it’d be honored if you’d call me Natasha. Only if you feel comfortable, of course,” she adds with a wink.

Steve doesn’t feel comfortable at all, but of course he nods. His Ma raised him well and he wouldn’t shame her now. “My pleasure, Natasha, please call me Steve.” He averts his gaze, before it lingers too long on the Agent’s eyes, looking for… he’s not even sure what he’s looking for. Signs of betrayal? Signs of hurt? Signs that she takes the situation as serious as he thinks she should? “All of you, please. I’m Steve to my friends.” Then he turns to Doctor Banner. “I haven’t even thanked you yet for looking after me. While I was… uhm, out.”

Steve takes a step forward, and the doctor immediately trails toward another screen, out of  his way. Steve noticed him doing this earlier: keeping his distance from everyone.

“I guess they’ve told you why I was the one they asked to treat you,” Banner says while staring at the floor.

“Mostly because you’re the expert of this field,” Steve smiles.

“Is that all?” Finally, Bruce looks up.

“All that matters, if you ask me,” Steve shrugs.

The doctor looks around. Romanoff nods encouragingly, and Tony winks at him. “Told you,” he mouths, almost inaudibly. But then he raises his voice. “Okay, everyone, I’m starving. I think we deserve a nice victory meal. I’ve ordered pizza.”

“Tony, we’re in a helicarrier, flying invisibly above the ocean,” Natasha reminds him flatly.

“Yeah, and this helicarrier has a kitchen to feed thousands of people. So. We’re having a pizza party!” He pours some dried fruits into his mouth from a bag. “Blueberry, anyone?”

“With one condition,” Steve looks Tony in the eye and points to Loki’s staff behind their backs. “I hate that it lays there unprotected. You two cover that stick with anything and everything you have so it can’t do any more harm.”

***

Natasha still sits on her table, swinging her feet like a joyful kid, while Steve’s on the floor, leaning to the leg of said table. Thor preferred a chair while Tony and Bruce is at each other’s side, sitting on pillows god knows where they found and propping their backs to the wall.

There are several trays on the floor and every open flat surfaces, each of them contains at least one pizza with various toppings. Because apparently Tony decided Steve and Thor should try every pizza topping available through a SHIELD canteen.

“No wonder people eat much of this,” Steve complains. “This crust is barely there. We used to have it thicker, at least it had some nutrient value.”

“No offense, Steve, but pizza is all about toppings,” Natasha says and bites her slice. “Italians swear the flat crust is the original one.”

“Uh, no, it depends on the region,” Bruce adds his two cents. “The original Margherita pizza, however…”

“No matter if it’s thick or not, this earthly meal is delightful!” Thor butts in, already grabbing another slice.

“The soul is the tomato sauce!” Tony asseverates. “The crust is just the thing that holds the topping up, but the sauce…”

“No way!” Bruce raises his voice for the first time. “Sour cream and garlic is way better sauce than of tomato.”

“Oh! My feelings are hurt!” Tony pushes his palm on his chest. “How could a genius like you be _so wrong?!_ ”

“Guys, we should be on alert, I think,” Steve tries to be the responsible adult in the room and fails. It’s not like he takes it personally – after all, it’s not different from the war. More than half of the times with the Howlies was spent being bored out of their shoes back then, too, while they waited for intel or for the enemy’s movements or for whatever it took to start the action.

“Oh, shut up, Capsicle. Don’t be a spoilsport, try anchovies instead!”

“Don’t try anchovies,” Bruce tries to warn, but his voice is mostly suppressed by a demigod’s.

“All of you are wrong,” Thor adds sternly. “Clearly the soul of this food is the cheese on it.”

Natasha grunts. “Well, you’re not wrong,” she pats Thor on his bicep.

Steve eyes the pizza slice that Tony offers him with suspicion. “What is even anchovy? I haven’t heard of this abomination. Is it a fruit, or a vegetable?”

Bruce visibly shivers at his words, but otherwise stays mute and only hunches his shoulders.

“Shut up and try it already, Cap,” Natasha tosses the tray toward Steve, ignoring the fact that Tony was holding out a slice already.

“Hey!” Tony shouts.

“Don’t be a baby, Stark. He’ll hate it anyway.”

“You said that about pineapple and I found that quite good,” Steve remarks. Three people gasps in horror simultaneously. “And I understand you think it’s absolutely essential that we should try all of these foods, Tony, but the work is not done,” he reminds the scientists again.

“We deserve some downtime while science works for us” Tony shrugs. “Besides, my decrypting software needs some time to go through the SHIELD files so we could figure out what’s happening.”

“What?” Steve gapes at Tony, with growing horror on his face, but he can’t deny he’s more amazed than offended. It may even turn out he’s not the most suspicious one in this group after all.

Bruce stands up abruptly and walks over to the nearest screen, as if he tried to distance himself from the scene unfolding in front of him.

“It seems like you can inherit paranoia not only from parents but from boyfriends too,” Natasha remarks dryly, and Steve freezes. “I bet he’s really _proud_ of you hearing about this…” Natasha continues, but Steve’s still unable to wrap his head around this. He always assumed the bickering among the Agent and Tony was mostly joking. But now she’s not joking now, the bitterness and hurt in her voice is real. It’s there, clear and plain, said out loud: _boyfriend. He._ Which must mean… that Tony really is dating a man. When Steve heard Tony confessing he misses _James_ , it was his _boyfriend_. Tony is dating a man. Colonel Rhodes must be really special, sure, but. Tony Stark. Famous industrialist, well-known celebrity, superhero, national treasure. And people just… accept he’s a fairy? Steve has to take some deep breaths and force his thoughts back on track. They’re in the middle of an intergalactical diplomatic crisis, he reminds himself. They have a powerful villain in their custody, he has to focus on this. They have to find that damned cube to prevent some serious shit to happen, he knows. He can’t… he should not prioritize his affection over looming threat. He has to focus.

He’ll deal with this revelation later.

“Shut up, Agent. SHIELD should know by now that if they don’t tell me stuff then I’m going to find out on my own.”

“Don’t expect me to not add this detail to my report.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll be banging on Fury’s door before you’ll have a chance to report.”

As they are more or less threatening each other, Steve looks over to Thor for a brief moment, assessing if he’d react any badly to the turn of the events, but the demigod stays in his chair, with his fingers on his stubble, studying everyone but not giving away his thoughts, and for one brief second Steve thinks he gets the glimpse of why people could possibly worship his kind. Right then and there Thor looks like a wise, patient old creature, knowing better than to intervene in mortals’ business. But the moment passes quickly.

“Uh, Captain, I mean, Steve,” Bruce says, catching his attention. “You were right. This staff has remarkable energy signatures. I guess we’d be affected somehow if it weren’t in a lead chamber inside a Faraday cage, but I still can’t exclude the possibility that its radiation is leaking somehow, so everyone, keep paying attention to yourselves for any suspicious conditions – or thoughts, I guess.”

“Maybe this was Loki’s plan all along?” Steve thinks aloud. “Infect us with some kind of radiation? The report says the staff has something to do with his mindwashing ability.”

“It’s a possibility,” Bruce nods and smiles at him, just as the screens around them are starting to beep.

“Oh, that’s mine,” Tony jumps to his feet. “Look what SHIELD’s hiding,” he winks. “And by the way, _Ms. Rushman_ , yes, I certainly think that my boyfriend appreciates when I’m paranoid.”

His hands move like he’s doing magic, faster than anyone Steve ever seen handling these screens, looking at least three of them simultaneously. Steve doesn’t offer help because he’s pretty sure there’s nothing he could do – but he notices Natasha slipping out of the room while the two scientists are working.

He walks out as well, ready to follow her, but then he gets a better idea. Of course, it’s probably unnecessary, probably just an extra mile for him to run while Tony is doing his technological magic, but the absence of weaponizing projects from the Tesseract files bugged Steve from the first moment.

And as long as he keeps himself busy, he doesn’t have to think about his situation. As long as he has a mission to fulfill, he doesn’t have to wonder how much Bucky would love this place, or that in the future a man like Tony Stark can like men openly.

Instead of following Natasha, he heads towards the armory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, obviously, as you've experienced it, I couldn't keep up with the daily updates, and since I don't want to disappoint anyone who waits for new chapter, I switch to posting a chapter in every second day. I'm so sorry for the inconvenience.  
> Also, I'm having a bit of rough time, so if you like this story, please let me know, kind comments help me so much - both in writing and in real life! :) Thank you everyone! :)  
> P.s. My tumblr is still open to anyone who'd like to drop by and say hi, just be patient with me as my replies will be slow, because of the mentioned rough real life issues.
> 
> P.p.s.: the next chapter, again, is almost 10K in wordcount, and I'm thinking of breaking it into two parts, updating separately but without adding another POV in between. Would you like that, or would you prefer the whole chapter up, no matter that it's a bit longer? (You liked the long-ass Steve chapter and this one will also deal with a lot of stuff, including James's and Natasha's relationship and finally, some fucking plot!)


	9. Yasha (part I.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Half of a chapter, where - despite what I promised last time - nothing exactly happens plotwise. (It will in the next part, I swear!) We've reached the chapters that are completely unbeta'ed, sapphirae didn't even read most of them. So apologies for the increased amount of grammatical and other mistakes - I hope they'll be corrected once, but probably not in the forseeable future. Except the ones you point out, I'm always willing to listen and improve so feel free to correct anything that bothers you while reading!

James needs help to get into SHIELD, and he knows where to get it. She offered once, even if that time, almost immediately after Vanko, feels long ago by now.

Natalia lets herself be found. She wandered around Tony’s mansion for the exact reason, and James is aware of it as he drops in front of her, facing her with confidence.

He moves before even _he_ could think about it. If he’d do something like this consciously, his mental preparation, the decision process would appear in his posture, in his movements – and he can’t afford that facing the Black Widow. So he bursts into action before he can second guess himself, grabbing the woman and yanking her toward himself, metal hand on her throat, flesh arm cradling her waist, therefore pinning her right arm to her body while holding the left wrist down and her back comes pressed to his chest.

He’s pretty sure she could’ve avoided it. It’s a simple, classical hostage hold, nothing fancy, something that even a simple trained operative could and should handle. But instead of fighting against it, she just goes pliant.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” James can hear in her voice how unimpressed she is. She lets her whole weight fall on him, not bothering even to stand on her feet.

“Not more than you if you think I’ll carry you bridal style or something,” he deadpans, barely breathing out the words into her ear. She snickers. He can feel her throat pulsing under his metal palm, better than ever, thanks to the upgraded sensors. Her heartbeat is steady and calm – controlled.

“No, I’m curious. What’s the next step of that truly spectacular plan of yours, now that you have a hold on me?” Now she sounds amused like she enjoys the situation. It can even be true - she always liked to play with fire, after all.

“Don’t you think I wouldn’t do anything needed to keep him safe.”

Natalia turns her head a little bit, and James should tighten his fingers and strangle her more but instead he loosens them and lets her. She watches him from the corner of her eye. “Which one?”

It mutes James for a second and his teeth click as he snaps his mouth shut.

The question is simple, but its implications are not.

The question means she knows he might have – he had? has he? – a reason to care about Rogers as well, not just Stark.

It means she’s aware of his past identity. He knows about James being Barnes – or that he was him once, at least, whatever that’s worth. James doesn’t know how she has this knowledge, not like it matters, it’s just… if she knows then who else might? But, well, she’s the Black Widow. It kinda feels natural that she knows about everything.

She was always the best. That’s why she escaped, then, way before James did.

The seconds pass by in heartbeats under sensors, and Natalia slowly smiles.

“You know which one,” he answers finally, his voice carefully neutral.

“But do _you_?” she challenges.

“I have my priorities,” he snaps, and _now_ his hold tightens, starting to choke. The Winter Soldier exist merely for its mission, she should know. But while his focus is skewed, she moves. She stomps her heel on his foot, her elbow lands a hit on his ribs and before he can react to stop it, she wriggles her left wrist free and James feels the poke of a blade, almost tickling his guts.

“You and me alike, _Zvezda moya_.” None of them moves. He knows she could turn his insides out with a smooth move a second before he would snap her neck. Either he has to make the first move, which he won’t do, or… Or. “I might have high hopes for you, I might help you if I see fit, but I’m not stupid enough to help you infiltrate my workplace. What kind of spy would that make me if I did?”

“Being a spy means being a double agent, doesn’t it?” His voice is hoarse as he tries to will himself to do what’s necessary if it really becomes unavoidable. He can’t look down to check the length of the blade threatening him, but knowing her professionalism he has no doubt it’s easily able to cause fatal injuries in capable hands. Natalia knows how much James can endure and wouldn’t hesitate: she never did.

“Double, yes. But not a triple one.” She’s casual, just a little out of her breath, but at least her heartbeat is elevated now. She also has adrenalin in her system and she knows as well that this situation could turn into lethal any moment. “How much do you trust yourself, James?”

Tricky question.

“Depends.” He doesn’t elaborate. He wishes he could answer it confidently, but he has no delusions about himself and the fragility of his mind and personality. He’s been… through a lot. Some of them doesn’t count anymore, but he’s not fully above being a threat, and he’s aware of this. “But you know the Winter Soldier and its missions.” She has experience with it.

“And I know you’re not the Soldier anymore.”

She has no doubts in her voice and for some reason, James feels better knowing that she’s sure. Even if she just plays it. It’s comforting they can agree on some solid points, like this.

“I can be when it counts,” he says nonetheless. “I’m gonna try without your help as well, you know, right? On my own devices, I might have to leave bodies behind.”

Her muscles go tense again, and James fills in the gap: annoyance.

“Let me go, James,” she commands quietly. For a moment, he entertains the idea to disobey, just for the knack of it. Just to show he _can_. But what good would that make? She was never his handler, as far as he can tell. They were partnered up, he was never subordinate to her. The moment hangs heavily between them, with dangerous edges and calculated calmness.

But then, he slowly releases his hold. First his metal fingers, then the flesh ones, then he carefully extends both of his arms and takes a step back.

She’s not as worried as him: she spins on her heels immediately, and pokes her index finger into his chest, risking it gets broken real fast. “Don’t try to threaten me again, James, I handle that shit poorly!” she glares at him, while he makes the effort to restrain himself. “Originally I wanted to help you, but now? I don’t really have the intention now.”

He nods. He understands this, but life is more complicated than principles alone.

“It wasn’t a threat. It’s a fact, and you have to be aware of it,” he states and stands her stare straight and tall, though his eyes slide to her empty hands. The knife disappeared back into its place, wherever it is on her.

“I hate you so much.” There’s no heat in the words, and just a hint of desperation – something that, however light it is, tells James he’s won. He’s sure of it even when Natalia walks away without saying anything else.

He suits up. He still didn’t let Tony make him another gear: the Winter Soldier one works just fine, he takes proper care of it, but for the first time, he considers he should give in to Tony’s insistence. One day, maybe.

He gets uncertain a bit while waiting, but his patience is rewarded: half an hour later his phone vibrates in his pocket and it displays a series of numbers and letters, accompanied by a coordinate.

Access code. Only one: probably the most general and low level one possible in the headquarters of a secret spy organization. She won’t make his job easy, but she gives enough that he won’t have to use lethal force to squirm his way inside before he’s left to his own – and, let’s be real here, Jarvis’s – devices.

He’s pleased nevertheless. What he got is more than enough for him.

***

No alarm goes off as James climbs in the vents of the helicarrier. He has to evade some traps, but… it’s strange, like this ship itself is designed for people to fit into the ventilation system. Maybe they train operatives here? The traps are too rare for training purposes, and somewhere he stumbles upon… some… blankets? James has to blink a few times in surprise to take in the comfy nest, with colorful pillows and plushy blankets and even non-perishable snacks.

James has a really intense internal battle to not steal some hard candy from the stash.

Instead he marks the place on his mental map to avoid this location in his wanderings. He has time to do so until Iron Man and Captain America arrives, with a chained up baddie in tow.

James watches him from above and doesn’t miss how he smirks whenever he thinks no one is looking at him, and he recognizes confidence when he sees it. This guy is right where he wants to be, obviously. Which is. Not a good sign. At all.

A fortress’s strength lays in the fact that it’s protected from outside threats. But a place that feels confident in its walls is even more vulnerable from the inside. The more James watches the figure dressed in black and green leather, more sure he is this guy is capable of tearing this tin can apart from the inside. Loki reminds him of… himself, somehow, like he’s a mixture of foggy and clear memories: the pride of the Bucky-person, the confidence of the Asset, the destructiveness of the Soldier… and it’s topped with something more, something unfamiliar and alien he can’t grab precisely. But he doesn’t have to. He knows what this means. Tony and Steve better get the hell out of here immediately, before all hell breaks loose.

Except they won’t go away, especially not when other’s lives are on the line. He knows Steve, and knows Tony, and none of them would let anyone stay in danger unprotected.

Just like James wouldn’t let them stay here unprotected.

Tony is his primary mission, and Steve is… secondary. Almost-primary. Something like that. None of those two idiots can take care of themselves, that’s for sure. (But Steve at least has a healing factor, while Tony’s body is just as fragile as any human’s.) And _their_ mission is the protection detail of everyone else.

Disturbing, if anyone would ask James, but of course they don’t.

James turns on the next corner and freezes because Natalia is in front of him. They both hold their breaths for a second, then she becks and James follows her until they drop out of the vents in a supply closet.

He knows she might betray him or lead him into a trap, but does he have any other options than trust her, while he’s this deep into her territory and home base, and she was able to track his movements somehow? Not really. So he decides to stay on high alert but otherwise trust her. Natalia stands in front of him and frowns. “Stay away from Loki, Yasha,” are her first words to him.

James arches an eyebrow as a question.

“He’s capable of brainwashing, and he’s… he’s good at it,” she elaborates. “Stay out of his way, _please_.”

His blood runs colder at the word _brainwash_ , but what really stops him dead on his track is the last part. Because all through the controlled rhythm and the carefully chosen words, he hears something genuine and honest: fear and desperation. He’s pretty sure no one but him is aware of these emotions.

Once they were close, closer than Natalia probably let anyone be ever again. It’s not a Bucky-memory, but not a mission-memory either, it’s something in between. Comes from a time when he wasn’t yet the killing machine the Asset was, but had lost his memories of himself and was reduced to a tool already. A more human one, but a mere weapon nevertheless.

Until he had Natalia, and until Natalia had him.

It’s like James always needed someone to remind him of _himself_. Was he even a person on his own, ever? He doesn’t have time to wonder about this. Not now. Maybe not ever.

James takes his mask off and tosses it to his back, one strap half-bounded to keep it on him. He steps forward and opens his arms. He’s not sure what to expect, if she’ll accept the comfort he offers or not. But after this much time spent with Tony and especially with Pepper, James learned a thing or two, and he has to try.

She moves and her breath hitches.

It’s almost frightening, how small and fragile she feels among his arms. When she’s confident and in her own element, she rarely lets others _notice_ how petite she really is, but right now she doesn’t play pretend, and she doesn’t act confident or know-it-all, or even the vulnerable little ballerina she uses to lure some idiots close.

She drops the act, if only momentarily, and James is the honored one to witness this, to be able to hold her through these precious moments, and he doesn’t know what to say so he just cradles her nape with his only warm hand, holds her close with the other, and gives a light kiss on her hair. “ _What’s wrong?”_ he asks and realizes only belatedly that it came out in Russian.

“He caught my partner,” she confesses, but in English, and the moment is over. But it doesn't matter as long as it was there. She got bad news, she had to prepare herself for the next task, and she needed a moment - not more than one, but still - to fall apart with someone, and with every people available to her, she decided to do so in front of James.

And it means both nothing and everything.

She pushes herself away from James and turns halfway away to hide her face. When she speaks next, she’s back to professionalism. “Please, James. If he uses his mojo on you, we’re all screwed and you know it too.”

James shivers as the possibilities run through his head. Would he hurt Natalia under commands? Yes. They both did it earlier. And Steve? Probably also yes. He can imagine he would, after a few therapeutic sessions in the Chair, unaware of Steve’s identity. Maybe only one would be enough to make him obedient again, who knows, he certainly doesn’t. And Tony?...

He wants to say no. His head hurts and his heart aches at the thought and how much he wants it, but he knows better. He can’t lie to himself, not even if the truth wrecks him.

“Brainwashing takes time,” he says out loud, hanging on the thought like it’s a lifesaver.

“Not for Loki, no,” Natalia shakes her head. _And it’s not like I need more than a little push to spin down fast on that spiral, she doesn’t say because she can be merciful sometimes_ , James thinks. Maybe that’s why she asked how much he trusts himself, earlier.

“Why didn’t you kill him already?” James scowls, suddenly antsy and irritated and very much in a murderous mood.

She laughs softly. “Information, what else.” Makes sense. “I’ll interrogate him.”

He reaches for her, his hand hesitates for a second above her skin, but he remembers Tony and Pepper and the casual way they’re able to touch others, and he finishes the movement. The curve of her shoulder is familiar under his metal palm as he gently squeezes it, and she turns back.

“I’ll watch over,” he promises hoarsely. “I’ll stay out of sight, of course, but if he tries… you won’t be alone, Natalia.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” The corner of her mouth quirks up, though. “I meant it, if he manages to get a hold of you, that’s catastrophic, but if he gets both of us then this world is doomed.”

Even James can’t suppress a giggle at that, no matter how immature it sounds. “Yeah, I bet,” he agrees. “But who can stand a chance against both of us?”

It’s an opportunity to lighten the mood, to part their ways in peace and smiling, but Natalia glances toward the door, making sure it’s still secured, then steps closer and her voice drops to an almost inaudible whisper. “I don’t want you to be punished for my faults again,” she confesses. “I know what you did, don’t think for a moment I don’t.”

It’s about past and usually James hates his past and talking about it is even worse. This time, however… is nothing different at all. He still hates it. And his head starts hurting just by the memories. “I didn’t do anything,” he hisses as quiet as she is.

“You were the one who helped me escape the Red Room, Yasha!” There are heat and passion in the sentence: she’s absolutely sure of her truth. So James shouldn’t bother to try and argue with her – especially not since his memories, however painful they are, tell him the same.

“I just bought you some time to do it yourself,” he hears himself, almost dream-like as he evokes it.

Her breath is a sharp intake, and she grabs his gear and almost shakes him by it. “Others could say you sacrificed yourself for me like an idiot and paid the price for my escape.”

She almost sounds angry, if James is able to detect her emotions well – and he has to smile despite everything. Here they are, years apart and layers of brainwashing between them, but still so similar in the ways that matter. Or does the similarities came especially after what they did to them, not originating from them but from their handlers’ handiwork?

“But we’re not others, right, Natalia?” He didn’t plan to sound this soft, but they’re alone while it’s forbidden and they talk about old times, about the memories that are filled with spreading warmth and lurking danger and intimate presence and he couldn’t help it.

“It’s my turn now. I helped you because it’s my turn and when this is over we’re going to be even.” She lets him go and takes a step back, and he admires her bravery. Backing away takes courage, especially for them… because standing close might actually be safer, because they are trained to stay still as a better option, because taking back is a sign of weakness in a world that kills the weak ones.

“We’ll never be even, Nat,” James says. “We’ll forever be way more than that, and we both know it.” At least James knows since the big memory download her sight kicked into his mind, since he remembered her again after the long time spent without knowing about her existence. The Russians wiped him and tortured him and wiped him again and again for his betrayal and ultimately they sold him to the American Hydra cell because he fell for the Black Widow and made them lost her. All it took was a year out of Hydra’s hands and a mere look at her in her perfect secretary disguise next to Pepper, and James’s memories were back about her. (Also, the close proximity of hand-to-hand afterward where they both thought the other wants to kill Tony was a good reminder, too, but that’s another thing.)

She carefully smiles back. “Fair enough, Yasha,” she admits and slowly leans closer until she gives a little kiss on his cheek. “Fair enough.” He turns to walk away but looks back after a few steps. “Oh, if you take an advice from a _friend_ … I’d stay here for at least an hour if I were you.” She winks and leaves.

***

James doesn’t trust Natalia, not fully, but she made him curious. So he climbs back up to the vents but stays above the supply closet, deciding to use the downtime as some twisted form of rest. He lets the nothingness take over his thoughts, only his instincts to guard his peace. He lets the wall support his back, barely staying up in his sitting positions, eyelids half closed and limbs slack. He lets his senses map his surroundings without him constantly analyzing the result, trusting his training to kick in if something suspicious arises around him.

He has to wait just an hour for it to happen. He opens his eyes, sharp and aware of everything without warning, listening and looking around immediately. The door of the supply closet opens under him, and James doesn’t move as he holds his breath, head tilted to one side to get a better location of the intruder.

There’s stillness for a moment, then a sigh.

James knows this sigh.

“I’d have sworn…” Tony murmurs, disappointed and almost embarrassed, and turns to leave.

Only to be faced with James, who glided from the vent the moment he realized who is the visitor.

James opens his arms, like he did with Natalia, unable to say a word yet, too close to his previous mindset. It doesn’t really matter: Tony’s eyes widen and he jumps into the offered embrace just as happily.

“James!” Tony exclaims eagerly, and sighs again, this time sounding content with the world. “I almost questioned my genius here,” he grins. He’s smart enough not to comment on the hug thing, which James approves. It’s not every day he’s able to offer close contact like this. But today… he missed Tony’s actual, real-life presence for two weeks by now.

They both missed each other too long.

He snuggles Tony closer.

“This thing is always in the way,” Tony grumbles and wriggles one hand free to remove the mask and kiss him, and it feels good, it tastes like _home_ and _safe_ and _perfect_ should taste, Tony’s lips on his, Tony’s tongue in his mouth, makes fireworks explode in his mind but quiet ones that makes all the noisy thoughts quiet as well. His hands’ touch is light through the thick layers, and that’s good too, that stops it from being overwhelming.

After they part, Tony buries his face in James’s neck, pecking light kisses on the skin exposed from the armor, and for a brief moment he panics, he wants to push him away from this closeness, he wants to free himself, he…

But it ends before he’d do anything.

James takes a deep breath, and relaxes, lets the tension go away and allows himself to melt into the embrace bit by bit.

“You’re alright,” Tony murmurs. “I missed you.”

James wants to talk, too, but he doesn’t find words for the things he should say. All the vocabulary that comes to his mind is about strategy, tactical analysis, observations of the prisoner, opinion about the course of action and counter-strikes and such. He doesn’t know anymore how to voice himself in connection with feelings, for example. Being an asset is easier than to tangle out the mess they’re in, with being intimate and together and apart and with Steve and—

It’s just too overwhelming to actually verbalize all of this. Even clinging to each other is easier.

So they do exactly that. James counts the time mutely, trying to figure out how much are they allowed. Tony has to go back soon. His presence is needed, his absence is probably already noted, he can’t be suspicious, that wouldn’t be safe. But he still has some precious minutes to spend. He rubs circles on Tony’s back and gets the same in return, he strokes Tony’s hair and Tony brushes his fingers through James’s as well.

James mentally notes that Tony follows his leads as always, never doing more than what James is ready to offer at any given point. The realization doesn’t help his muteness either, and he needs some deep breaths to actually be able to overcome the tightness in his throat.

“Mechanic,” he groans helplessly, and now he’s the one to bury his face in Tony’s neck, back bent and arms holding tight while Tony nibs his earlobe. James shudders and starts to push himself away. “We’d need more time.”

“Mmm, we’ll definitely need a lot of time,” Tony agrees, and tries to hang on for a bit more. “I have all kind of naughty ideas that need more time.” But he lets go.

James really has no other option than to smile at him. “You have to go back,” he reminds.

Tony pouts. “I’ve been waiting for this to happen real long and I don’t want it to end. You’re usually not this touchy-feely and I definitely like the change.”

James kisses Tony one more time. “I know,” he says, and he really does now, he starts to understand belatedly how patient Tony was with him so far, not doing anything that’d make him uncomfortable, not stressing the touches they shared, not hurrying the close physical contact more than James was ready to stand. “After this… _after_ ,” he promises and doesn’t finish the sentence, hoping Tony is able to understand him anyway, like he was always able to understand James before he himself did.

The internal clock in James clicks the seconds away mercilessly. They’ve been in here together for seven minutes so far. Too long. It’s dangerous. Tony will be punished for his disappearance if they keep this up.

“After,” Tony repeats and nods. “We’ll talk it out. Or we’ll just do it. Whatever.” He sounds breathless, like he’s been exercising, though James bets it’s because of the kissing instead. Not like it’s a bad thing. James’d be up to be kissed breathless a lot more, now that he thinks about it.

“I’ll keep watch,” he promises instead.

Tony kisses him goodbye, and his hand slips out of the hold, but a tiny device remains on James’s open palm.

“Be careful,” Tony says, caresses his face and leaves.

James looks at the listening device in his hand and smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, some of you voted on posting this chapter in two parts, which I'll do now and I'll merge them into one after the whole fic will be posted. Because that way it won't mess up the (already messed up) chapter order (more), and also if someone will read it as a finished fic I don't think they'll care if it's a long chapter. Also, it's actually shorter than the 5th. I'll treat you with the next part tomorrow.
> 
> Also, since you wanted Tony to get a hug already, look! Tony got that hug! Because of you! Yaay you! :D Thank you for all of your lovely comments, I can't wait to answer them!


	10. Yasha (part II.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James's chapter continues. And YAAY! PLOT! Look at this! Wow.  
> It took just 9 chapter, right??

When the whole helicarrier shakes under him, James knows someone screwed up something real bad. A ship this big shouldn’t even lean, not even during maneuvering, let alone swinging and rattling. “Dammit,” he murmurs, and he reaches to his ear to turn on the earpiece he got. He inaudibly thanks System for being able to synchronize the little device with Tony’s frequency anytime, even if said frequency is secured. Like he said: everything is more vulnerable from the inside than from the outside. While the AI does the tech magic, he rises to his knees and hands and crawls further into the maze of the vents: approaching toward the supposed location of his Mechanic.

“Connection is stable, James, though your device doesn’t allow you to communicate with them,” Jarvis states, and then there’s the too-familiar voice of Steve is in his ears. “Put on the suit!”

 _Shit_ , he thinks while he hears Tony’s affirmation.

James moves faster, damn the need to be silent and undetected, he needs to get there _immediately._ He wants to ask what the hell is going on, and he needs to protect them from whatever it is.

Not like they’re not capable of doing so, but still. _Everyone_ has better chances with the Winter Soldier on their side than without. Tony would call it a scientific fact or something. But even without asking he gets to know as a woman (Hill, it turns out) states the ship lost one of its engines and Stark’s job is to repair it.

Which is good. Tinkering is the Mechanic’s strong suit, sure. But maybe it would be better on the ground, not nine thousand or what feet in the air, with low oxygen and all. And James is still not 100% convinced that Steve is fully reliable, he still waits for the other shoe to drop, and he was itchy to let them to Berlin alone, not like anyone cared with his opinion, like they don’t care now either, and his thoughts whirl like a fucking hurricane in his head, when the Director’s next words catch his attention. _“Official lockdown.”_ In the area where the prison is. Where James was seconds ago.

He has no idea how big or small this area is. But if someone activates a lockdown…

James drops from the vents to the corridor, damn everything, and starts to sprint as soon as his boots hit the floor. His steps echo in the contained space so loud he misses everything from the comms because of it. From the corner of his eyes he catches five men dressed in heavy black tactical armor running to the opposite direction in a parallel corridor, toward the cell, and for a passing second, he entertains the idea of engaging them. He’s pretty sure they’re not good guys and their trajectory means they’re here for a rescue op.

He dismisses the idea almost immediately. It’s not his job. There should be enough agents in a goddamned flying mothership of army spies to stop some baddies. He’s here to protect, he has his own priorities. If he’d wanted to help SHIELD, he might as well have stayed put above the prison and shot down everyone who came close with bad intentions. He didn’t do that, for a reason. He has his own objective.

Ha makes it out, but only barely. The last two meters of the distance he leaps and he dives and rolls under the condensing steel barrier that nearly cuts his legs off, assuming by the sound of it as it slams closed.

“What the fucking fuck,” he breathes out.

 _The Soldier doesn’t swear_ , a voice, familiar from painful memories, echoes in his head.

 _“Fuck you_ ,” he says louder. The Soldier might not, but James does. With taste and variety, thank you very much.

For one precious moment, he stays down, pressed to the floor and panting from the adrenaline rush. Just one deep breath to steady himself for whatever is coming, now that he’s out here in plain sight. He’s really glad he was sensible enough to put his mask on and to hide his metal arm. At least his features and special recognizance are not visible.

If they were, the tech staring at him might be screaming by now. James stands up. “Five hostile agents inside, probably to free the prisoner. Warn anyone who wanna go in,” he orders the woman, who doesn’t do more than blink in surprise. James doesn’t really care. He thinks, distantly, that Tony and Steve should better be fucking proud of him saying a word at all and not hitting her out of pure self-preservatory reflex. He acted like a good guy.

Even if he runs away right after it, but damn, he has a job to do as well.

And from the sound of it, now he has a tertiary target as well, because as incredible as it is, it sounds like Natalia is in trouble too. _How the hell is that even possible?!_ Out of everyone, literally everyone on this planet, he’d bet on the Black Widow’s survival above all. What could possibly make her yelp in fear? That roar doesn’t promise anything good, for sure.

And it shakes James’s determination. He wanted to run toward Tony and Steve – at least they’re sticking together all the time, which makes surveillance and protection easier –, but listening to the comms he’s not sure anymore. The pair is not in danger at the moment. And, yeah, this situation might be dangerous, but Tony can fly and he can carry one man into safety no matter how high they’re up currently. Iron Man has the least to fear – and James has let him do his superheroing thing in the past, too, because he was covered in the world’s strongest armor (or second strongest, now that one special shield is back in play again) from head to toe. They’re not in combat, they’re repairing a blown up turbine together. Natalia on the other hand…

But with them, James at least knows where they are. Hard to miss a fucking huge turbine. Widow can literally be anywhere in this fucking ship, though, to be fair, he could always follow the inhuman roar if she’s still near to the creature what causes them.

He turns right and left and tries to think clearly. The familiar yearning for orders is back under his skin, begging in his mind. How much easier it would be if someone just told him what is the right decision. If someone could do that for him. After so much time spent as a tool, one would think he hates being controlled, and for most of the time, it’s true. He likes his independence, he likes being the one in charge. But when it’s this hard, when his beloved ones might be in the stakes of his decision, he hates the responsibility. It’s so easy to relapse, so easy to wait for someone else to take charge…

A luxury he can’t afford now.

“Thor engaged the Hulk,” Widow reports in the earpiece, making everything so much easier, even though hearing how shaken she is… well, it’s its own kind of misery, but not a priority. James turns to the direction of the burning turbine and starts to jog, ready to fight at any given moment.

***

He kinda hates how _huge_ this fucking mothership is, especially if someone tries to move out of sight.

He’s only able to listen as Cap and Iron Man fix the turbine and fight off their attackers before he could reach them.

He can’t do shit while there’s an ongoing on against the bridge. (Not like he wants to, he reminds himself, _it’s not his fucking job to fight this time._ ) He takes down two armed men while he’s on his own merry way, but that’s nothing more than a few moves, no matter how fierce and professional they are. They were not trained against the Asset. He’s not sure if they were SHIELD or against them - doesn’t really matter, so he doesn’t really care.

He listens as a new voice joins the conversation and reports back what James said to the tech and asks for Romanoff’s assistance against Loki and his helpers. “Copy. On my way, Coulson,” the woman replies. By the sound of it, they engage with the enemy, and James is helpless as he hears Thor shouting “behind you” and “watch out”, clearly trapped, and Natalia’s harsh breaths as someone else reports Barton somewhere in the middle of the ship… and then, her report about Loki escaping successfully.

At least Tony and Steve are uninjured, as far as he’s able to say, but there’s still an awfully tight feeling around his ribs as he sneaks back to the vents. Natasha is hurt, but that man named Coulson is treating her injuries already. They’ve lost the ones named Thor and Banner, and of course many of the SHIELD personnel.

James curls up around himself and weights down the bile rising in his throat about how useless he was. He came here, but for nothing, he wasn’t able to improve anything, he didn’t help anyone, he was here just to _listen_. He hates this helicarrier and its size and the whole situation itself. People shot at Steve _again_ and he wasn’t there to watch his six. Tony almost got hurt because James wasn’t fast enough. The moment he heard his little _‘Uh-oh’_ through the comm, the telltale sign of him being in horrendous trouble, made his blood run cold and him seeing all red suddenly, but _he couldn’t help._

He hates it.

He hates himself.

He should be better, he should be the _best_ , and yet he’s never enough.

The Soldier was nothing without its mission. What would James be without Tony? What’s the point of him being a first-class fighter if he can’t keep the ones he cares for safe? What is _he_ without his mission?

He entertains the idea of switching off the earpiece. It wouldn’t only be petty, but dangerous too, so he doesn’t do it, but he tunes out most of the conversations. He doesn’t want to know how much the damage is, he doesn’t want to hear the one named Coulson giving honest to God _pep talks_ about shit. He doesn’t know what he wants exactly because, on one hand, he wants to know everything, he wants to be _part_ of the events, but on the other hand, the mere possibility of it makes him sick.

Being the ghost story, being the scary legend means protection. As long as no one knows his identity, no one has a clue about who he is and what he wants they can’t get a grip on him, they can’t possibly fight him. But, as today showed it again, it can be a damn weakness too, something that restrains him, something that enables him when he’s needed. But what else is there for him? He can’t reveal himself, no matter how… appealing the possibility of moving freely and helping openly seems. Because it won’t happen. If he somehow got brain damage or something and decided to out himself, he’d be killed for the crimes he committed as the Asset, he’d be neutralized for being the threat he is, he’d never be let close to Iron Man or Captain America ever. Or he’d be captured and taken back to Hydra’s hands and he won’t let that happen ever, he’d kill himself before he’d endure another wipe.

No matter if this Avengers Initiative they’re talking about will come to life or not, James would never ever been considered fit to be even near them. Not like he wanted to be an Avenger or anything, no, this “Earth’s Mightiest Heroes” thing is clearly not for him, and only the stupidest folks want a target like this on their backs. (Like his Mechanic. Like his blond boy of light.) But. Still. He just wants to keep them safe.

Not only Tony, not anymore.

He wants Steve and Natasha to be safe too, and Pepper and Yinsen and even Rhodes.

_Fuck._

He doesn’t know what to do anymore. Protecting them is way more complicated than any of his missions ever been, and he has no guidance on how to do it.

***

“Relax, Coulson, I’m okay,” he hears Natasha fuck knows how much time later. “I’ll just grab some _morozhenym_ I’ve left in the storage.”

He figures the Russian is for him, especially since it’s a frozen sweet and Natalia doesn’t even like ice cream, a least James thinks. The storage must mean the supply closet they were earlier. He uncurls himself, hisses internally at how sore he feels and quietly starts off. Not like the caution is needed, though, in a ship this wrecked with no proper communication system online and no surveillance available anymore. He’s pretty sure he won’t be noticed as long as he doesn’t jump into the head of someone. Maybe not even then.

But better safe than sorry, so he stays in the vents and exits only in the supply closet where Natasha is indeed waiting for him.

“We’re leaving,” she says instead of greeting. “Want to come and help or need me to drop you out somewhere?” But her grin says she knows the answer, and James’s sure he won’t belie her.

***

They steal a quinjet. Of _fucking_ course they do. James smiles under the mask. Working with the Widow is familiar and it leaves a warmth in his chest he didn’t precisely remember before, but he founds recognizable and pleasant. And by her grin, she enjoys it too.

The speed is fantastic. It helps a bit to feel useful again, heading toward a battle in high velocity.

“Thanks for the warning,” she says during the flight, eyes on the horizon. He shrugs as an answer. “Coulson was confused, thought you might be Barton,” she adds after a pause.

This earns some surprised blinks. “Why?”

“The warning. And you fight against them, there’s recording about that. Your efficiency made him think of Barton,” she elaborates. “But of course not. Barton stole the scepter instead of helping us out. I should’ve stopped him.”

“You had your own task. You tried to stop Loki’s escape.” He’s not good at comforting people, not even Natalia, despite their shared past. He trains his eyes on the horizon too as he speaks, because it’s easier than looking at her and risking to get a glance at her real feelings. Pepper would probably hug, but James likes his skin intact, so he doesn’t try to touch her. Tony would talk much more, but James is not good at talking at all.

“Well, yeah, and I’ve failed that too, right?” She sounds way too cheerful, but James understands. It’s the same crisis he has currently, too. He wants to say he understands, he wants to say it’s okay and she did well anyway, but he’s not sure if she wants to hear any of that.

“We’re the best but not even we’re above mistakes,” he says carefully instead. She snorts but doesn’t answer, and the silence that settles in the jet is friendly – more comfortable than James would’ve thought possible a day or so ago.

But their camaraderie is back even though their love affair is long gone in the past, working together even this briefly brought the familiarity back flawlessly. Once they were able to count on each other before anyone else, even against terrible odds and their own superior officers, and a trust like that runs deep. It’s a bond of similarly damaged people who know what to expect from each other – the best because failure was never an option.

“What is this guy up to, anyway?” James asks after the long pause.

“Oh, opening some science-miracle portal to outer space, inviting an alien army to enslave the whole planet, kill us all, something like this,” she shrugs. “But he plans to do it from the roof of the Stark Tower, which made our dynamic duo real pissed.”

James can imagine. If he remembers Steve _‘just a kid from Brooklyn’_ Rogers correctly, he’s a real New Yorker in heart. Brooklyn first and foremost, of course, but the city itself is precious to him in the way Mother Russia was precious to the Soldier and Widow. Someone threatening New York means a personal insult to Rogers – as well as using his own tower is a personal insult to Stark.

“He’s an idiot, then,” James snorts. “And I guess SHIELD ringed all the alarms in the world and the city is evacuated currently?” he risks, and her laugh holds no real joy.

“Yeah, no, not really. No one would believe us because we have no evidence except the words of a literal genius and a master tactician. Which are, as you see, not worth enough. We’ll be alone, at least at the beginning.”

“So what, four people against the demigod, his men, and a whole unknown alien army? On our own?” This is the craziest, stupidest idea James has ever heard. And he grew up with Steve Rogers of all.

“Stark is sure Banner will show up eventually and I’m sure Thor survived too, so it makes us six, but other than that… I take it as you’re in?” Natalia beams at him.

“Hell yeah,” he agrees, mirroring her grin. “Count me in, I’ve always wanted to die by aliens.”

For a while they go on, snickering and making faces, bidding on each other on who’ll die first or worst between the two of them. Because inventing gruesome deaths is way easier and natural than anything else, because they both know there are worse things than death, no matter how painful said death it is - and maybe because they have nothing better to do while flying into battle. It’s easier than addressing all the lingering past clinging to them, with the sacrifices and losses and all, and less distracting.

Dealing with their shit would be too sensible. And anyway, they’re not the ‘talk it out’ kind. They’re more like the ‘bury my secrets and regrets with me unspoken’ kinda people. She doesn’t talk about her partner, and neither does James about his.

“If I’d ask you to watch my six… Would you do it?” she asks, thoughtful, and her gaze is intently focused on James’s face.

He bits his lower lip and looks away.

“You are the legend. You are the Widow,” he answers slowly. “You’re just as much a creature of fight than I am. Maybe _more_ than I am. You don’t need me or anyone else on the field to be the best.”

She shakes her hand, a tiny little gesture. There are one too many things none of them could or should say directly. There’s a reason Natalia didn’t really ask. Because James would’ve said yes: out of obligation, not with his heart in the agreement. He would’ve said yes even though he’d hated himself for it, and he’d hated Nat for asking in the first place, for putting him into that impossible situation. He’d said yes because he knows very well he owes her. And debts are not to be forgotten, not even when they’re conflicted with emotions. He feels her gaze on his face and stops his hands from twitching. He stays very, very still under the examination; barely breathing at all.

“Thank you,” she says, finally, because she understands it without words. “You’re a good man, Yasha.”

There’s so much he could answer to it. He should deny it – Nat wouldn’t misunderstand it as a pathetic attempt to make her say more reassuring phrases, she’d know that he means it. But it’s not the time for that, either. He shrugs instead. “Not as much as you.” He finally looks back at her. “Because you don’t ask me, right?”

“As much as I’d love to fight side by side with you again; no.” She smiles, truly and honestly: the curve of her lips is barely visible, contrary to her bright and fake gestures. “They need you more than I.”

James nods. He doesn’t know if Tony or Steve needs him _more_ , but he’ll see on the field.

***

“I’ll drop you on a rooftop nearby, then we’ll go by the plan” she promises as the skyscrapers start to appear on the horizon and he starts to arm himself from the armory of the jet.

“Take me close and I’ll be fine,” he agrees and takes the commlink she offers to him. Instead of the spy device Tony offered, this one has built-in microphone, just in case, not like James plans to say a word to the team, but having the possibility is comforting. He switches it to his former device. “How did you convince them to come alone?”

“It’s not like I needed much, I think Tony at least suspects I carry you too,” she shrugs. “And I said a backup jet will come handy if someone blows up the first one, which Steve agreed with.”

Like the world wants to illustrate her words, there’s an explosion ahead. James’s stomach turns into a great knot of worry immediately.

“Blyad!” she swears passionately. They both turn on the commlinks in unison. “Hey guys, I’m right behind you,” Natasha states. “You okay? Should I pick you up?”

“Nah, but good to know. Your BFF is less welcoming than we expected,” Tony says and James has to let out a relieved sigh. “I’ve caught Frosty as well, but I don’t expect us to sneak inon the Tower anymore.”

“Like you’re ever subtle enough for that,” Natalia rolls her eyes. “Give me two minutes, I’ll deal with Barton, you keep company to Loki. Romanoff out.”

They look at each other, and James nods. Fighting is all they ever knew in their lives. They’re good at it, they’re best at it. If they have to fight, that’s easy.

“Tell Tony that…” James starts, but he’s unable to come up with anything. He shrugs, helpless. Natalia nods anyway and lets him go to the end of the jet with his pack.

“If you die first, you owe me dinner, Yasha!” she calls out as he opens the ramp of the jet.

“If you die first, you owe me a secret, Vdova!” he answers, winks, and steps out of the jet, landing and rolling out the hit safely on the rooftop under. He’ll just have to position himself and wait for the action, now. He’ll prove he’s not useless, he’ll show he can protect the ones he cares for. He gets this.

He won’t fuck this up.

He counts the weapons he carries. The most important one is the pretty sniper rifle: a beautiful plaything that he finds disturbingly familiar. It isn’t _his_ rifle, not the one the Soldier used often, but it _is_ the same type, same design. It feels pleasant to hold and the knowledge of it is reassuring. He’ll be a hundred percent accurate with it by the third shot, knowing the type all too well.

Still, the thought that SHIELD has the same sniper rifle armed in their standard equipment quinjet bugs him. It’s probably just a lucky coincidence.

Probably.

He has no more time to worry about it, though. He has a job to do, a plan he and Natalia agreed on. He’ll show himself to the enemy sniper. He’ll distract the archer as a bait target so she’ll have a chance to successfully sneak up on and capture him.

(James tries his hardest to not think too much about that part. About the archer being Natalia’s partner. That thought makes his head heavy and it rises bile up in his throat, and at first, James thinks it’s because of irrational jealousy before he realizes it’s way worse: pity. He feels remorse for Natalia and for what she’ll be through, how she’ll have to fight her friend and partner. James still wonders, momentarily, if he’ll have to do the same with Steve eventually.)

He continues the inventory check. He has some of his own weapons on him, and he grabbed some more from the jet. When he infiltrated SHIELD he packed for a stealth op, which didn’t allow much to carry around. Now that the situation threatens to turn out to be a fucking siege battle – well, the more the merrier, in weapon count at least. So by now he has exactly twelve hand grenades, one grenade launcher with five shots, the rifle, two semi-automatic, a shotgun, three handguns and seven knives, plus a garrote, a dust grenade and an EMP for a last desperate measure.

Not the most impressive set he ever carried, but a pretty good arsenal nonetheless.

***

He leaves the rifle in a good spot he can return to later, then moves closer to the Stark Tower. At least it’s easy to find. Also, it’s a damned good spot for a sniper. He almost envies Barton: he has a great outlook on every direction if he’s really on the rooftop.

Of fucking course he is.

James experiences it soon.

The Soldier has the reflexes needed to catch arrows mid-air. But after the first one, the enemy knows this as well and James will have to look out for the trick shots Natalia warned him about. Like explosive arrows. (Fuck them, who came up with this terrible idea anyway. Or at least, who gave permission to use them on _him_?!) Or like those dust-and-shock ones. Thank God Barton doesn’t know about his metal arm so it doesn’t cross his mind to try and take that out.

Still, being in the center of another, and undoubtedly spectacular sniper’s attention is torturous, and it puts to the proof every ounce of James’s abilities and Asset training. He leaps, jumps, rolls, ducks multiple times within seconds. He moves from cover to cover but he still has to move, because that’s the whole point of him showing himself and running from arrows instead of returning the fire like any sensible assassin would do in his place.

Despite his best efforts he still gets hit twice, which says something about Barton’s professionalism as well. Luckily the first one only tears through the flesh of his side, avoiding any major organs, if only barely. James is still grateful. He needs his kidney, thanks. The second arrow hits the metal arm. It doesn’t do significant damage, the edge glances off of the surface without problem. (Thank fuck it’s not the explosive arrow.) Still, it ruins James’s jacket and from now on he has to be aware that his identity won’t be secured anymore, no matter the mask. If someone so much as catches a photo of him, there’s a high probability of the metal glimpsing from under the fabric will give him away to any high-ranking HYDRA personnel.

James has no illusions that the photographs documenting this incident are going to be valuable and broadcasted worldwide.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

And to make things even better, the third arrow catches him in his shoulder, just under the collarbone.

His left shoulder, where the metal and flesh meets.

He’s on his knees as white-hot-red-pain blinds him for a second.

If he’d been alone, he’d been dead. He’s incapacitated for three precious seconds, unable to react to anything but the agony of the hit, and it’s more than enough for a skilled archer to make a kill shot.

The arrow never appears.

James flicks his communicator to life with his right hand and he’s relieved to hear the sounds: the thuds and grunts that tell him Natalia engaged her target. For a shameful moment, all James’s able to think is: _finally, couldn’t you do it five seconds earlier?!_

But it’s not the right time for wishful thinking. He tears the shaft of the arrow down, not touching the head. Who knows what damage would it do if removed unprofessionally. Of course, it being there in the muscle mass means that pain levels rise up every time James moves his metal arm, but he can endure pain. Also, he knows by experience how adrenaline, especially in great amount, is able to dull such unpleasant sensations. That and his training combined will make him forget about the pain for the necessary amount of time, if he actually has to engage hand-to-hand combat. And until that as a sniper, well. He’ll look out to limit his own movements for a degree. He had worse. So much worse. No matter how much he’s out of practice in terms of endurance, he’ll be okay.

He just hopes Natalia neutralized Barton’s threat effectively.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still having [my tumblr](http://menatiera.tumblr.com) which by now you're probably bored of to hear about. :)


	11. Chapter 10: Iron Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter accompanied by Araydre's always-awesome art! :)

Tony and Steve figure out Loki’s plan.

Steve is offended. As a true New Yorker (and a Brooklyn Boy at heart), he takes personal offense of Loki going against Manhattan. At the same time, Tony is furious. That son of a bitch dares to use _his Tower_ as a power source to start up a pathetic portal machinery. _Fuck this shit._

Naturally, they won’t let this stand. “Okay, how do we leave the helicarrier?” Steve asks Tony after they got to an agreement.

“By stealing a jet, that’s how,” Natasha shows up next to them, probably materializing out of thin air, making both of them jump in their respective places.

“Hoooly shit,” Tony cries out, palm over his reactor. “Seriously, Romanoff, I have a _heart condition!_ ” he protests. Romanoff leads them in the corridors. She favors her left leg, but other than that she seems patched up after her fall and affair with the Hulk, some mercenaries, and Loki himself. Once they reach a place from where they can look over a hangar, she points out. “You two take off with that one, and I’ll follow you with another.”

Steve looks at Tony, waiting for his approval.

Tony looks at Natasha, holds her gaze as heartbeats are ticking away, making it a question without saying a word. Natasha tilts her head to the right, and a light, fond little smile appears on one side of her lips. Tony swallows, appreciating the gesture that he interprets as proof that James is alright and Natasha needs the second aircraft to carry James as well without Steve’s knowledge. Then he nods.

“Okay, let’s do it.”

***

“Seemingly it’ll be a tough fight,” Steve says quietly, eyes on the horizon.

“Yeah, jokes on you. We’re going to save Manhattan, and the world by the way, but it’s a piece of cake, just a usual Friday afternoon,” Tony tries to lift the mood. Steve spares a glance to the cockpit where Tony pilots the quinjet. It’s not the kind of aircraft he’s familiar with, but the basics are the same, so he can handle it, even if not yet smoothly.

“Story of my life,” Steve says drily.

“Listen, Cap…” Tony’s voice is barely above a whisper, no matter they’re alone in the jet. Bruce turned into Hulk after the unexpected explosion and wrecked half of the helicarrier, to the point SHIELD had to order a fighter jet against him. That was the last time they saw the green giant, but Tony’s sure he’s alright. And he trusts that the moment Bruce will be back to his senses, he’ll do his best to rejoin them.

Thor is another question. No one knows if an Asgardian is able to survive such a fall he did. Even Tony had his doubts.

Until Natasha, bless her practical mind, reminded everyone that Thor can fly. _That he actually landed on a quinjet from fuck knows how high as a first entrance._ So after that, the only question was how to contact a Norse god to tell him where to go. Thor got a comm unit as well as everyone, but it stopped working at some point. The idea came from Coulson, this time: wherever Thor goes and uses his powers, storms happen, so let’s try to find unusual meteorological activities. Since SHIELD’s systems were mostly offline, Tony ordered Jarvis to look for strange patterns, and when the AI found them, a Stark Drone was sent at that direction, aimed with SHIELD’s previous reads of Mjolnir. The little machine will likely be able to connect itself with the special emission that hammer makes and deliver Tony’s message about Loki’s location.

So they have some hope for Thor’s arrival as well.

But momentarily, Steve and Tony are alone, while Natasha follows them with a backup quinjet. They have the chance to talk.

“I was thinking. And, umm. You should lead the team. They’ll listen to you more,” Tony says unceremoniously.

Steve’s head whips in his direction so fast the movement blurs in Tony’s peripheral vision, because he refuses to look at Steve directly.

He wanted to lead the Avengers, he was prepared for it. But he spent enough time with Steve to realize Fury’s right. Tall and Handsome Righteousness is a better candidate for the post. He’s inspirational, he’s honest, he has a good history with responsibilities and he’s literally everyone’s teenage crush. Thor seemed to respect his opinions while they engaged in conversation and Bruce already knew him as his scientific subject and even Natasha likes Cap.

Tony’s ready to step down in his favor. No matter what anyone states, he doesn’t exactly _likes_ the spotlight on himself, neither needs it, he’s more than happy to have his peace. He’d be willing to sacrifice bigger things for winning, any day.

“What?” Steve gasps for air, eyes going wide. “Why would they? Are you kidding me?” He narrows his eyes. “This is really not the time for jokes, Tony.”

“I’m serious,” Tony protests. “I’m not… not the leader type. You are.”

“No,” Steve simply states. “You’re already doing great. That pizza thing and all. Without you there, we wouldn’t have a hope of Thor or Bruce returning. They wouldn’t have a reason to come back without _you_ . They’re already listening to _you_. Even SHIELD, even Fury is listening to you,” he smiles. “I won’t let you doubt yourself just because we got some hits. When they return, they have to see you above them, ready to lead them, okay?”

“Don’t try to flatter me, I’ve got a really bad track record with this shit, Cap,” Tony flashes the brightest smile, one of the endless repertoire of fake serenity. But he can’t… he doesn’t want to keep the act up for long, not here and now. “I’m really not a good team player, everyone knows that.”

“I don’t,” Steve shrugs nonchalantly. “And really, the only trick is to trust the others. Everything else can be sorted out on the fly.”

Trust. Well, there’re going to be problems, then, because Tony has huge problems on that front as well. But he doesn’t want to _disappoint_ Steve either.

“What if I fail? What if we lose because of me?” The questions, no matter how childish they are, come out with his uncertainty.

Steve considers this, takes his time to do so, and Tony is grateful for it. What he needs is not a meaningless pep talk: he needs safeguards and insurance.

“I can’t say I know your track record, but I’ve been living with you lately, so I’m pretty sure I have some ideas about you by now,” Steve starts. “And I know you’re gonna do everything that is humanly possible and necessary to do it right. You’re charismatic, you’re determined, and you’re the smartest man I’ve ever met, including your father,” he states, and Tony’s breath hitches and he doesn’t dare to interrupt, but he’s pretty sure he will cry if Steve keeps this up. How the hell he knew placing him above Howard is the biggest compliment he could say to Tony right now? “I’m ready to follow you, Tony, and I know you’re more than ready to lead this team.”

Tony knows all of the stories. All the times Steve violated rules, opposed orders and disregarded superior officers. If _Steve Rogers_ is ready to follow someone, that’s _huge_. If Captain America is ready to be a subordinate to Iron Man, that’s…

Honorific, no doubt, but it may be a bit too much.

“I don’t want you to,” Tony starts to smile, this time for real. “What if we meet in the middle? Co-leaders?” he offers.

Steve smiles back. “I can accept a stand-in position, if you insist.”

Tony offers his hand, and Steve accepts it. “Deal,” he grins.

***

Their quinjet gets blown up before they reach the Tower.

“Fuck,” Tony swears.

“Barton,” Steve answers, while he clambers to anything around him.

“Seatbelt,” Tony shouts, not like it matters by now. But… _really?_ One would think they’re over this after the first accident, but nooo. Captain Grandpa still didn’t learn his lesson with a broken windscreen’s shards in his flesh. Typical.

Tony activates his suit, grabs Steve and with a repulsor blast he breaks out from the cockpit. Steve’s heavier than he expected; he’s barely able to break their freefall, the heat of his repulsors brushing at the top of some gaper’s heads. “Once we’re over this, we’ll have to practice these stunts,” Tony pants out as he dodges an arrow and ducks behind a skyscraper.

“Seconded,” Steve agrees, and they both jump a bit as Natasha joins into the conversation through her communicator. Her plan is sensible enough, and they get moving immediately.

***

Tony encounters Loki.

Tony gets thrown out of his own window.

Tony is caught by Jarvis in a new suit.

So everything works out perfectly, really.

Well. Perfectly, minus the alien army. That’s unpleasant.

***

As Tony flies up toward the portal to greet the ugly bug things that swarm from there, he gets a glimpse of the Tower’s roof. Erik Selvig’s unmoving figure lays on the concrete, next to the device powered by the Tesseract that keeps the portal open. Romanoff is there, already in combat with Barton, which probably explains why Tony wasn’t shot at by the archer while he was falling. The commlink gets filled with their grunts and the sounds of their clash, but Tony tunes it out. He tries to forget the not so helpful image that Jarvis provided him, the zooming on to the Widow’s shoulder with an arrow embedded into it. Barton really, literally shot her, and if Tony’d let himself think about it, he’d be shocked, so he forbids himself to think about it. He’s working in a team now. He has to trust his teammates. He has to trust Thor, who just arrived and starts to deal with Loki, and has to trust Steve who’s still on ground level, ready to neutralize any threat there.

He has enough information input from his suit, the screens offer all kind of data literally an inch away from his nose, and he has more than enough opponents.

Still, as he aims with the missiles, he quietly orders Jarvis to scan for James’s presence.

***

The Mark VII is hardly tested at all, but it embraces him like a second skin, perfectly fit; modeled to him and him only. It’s even easier to pilot than the earlier suits. Tony’s and Jarvis’s sync gets better with each armor, with each flight, with each opponent.

Tony is not afraid.

No, that’s… not entirely true. He’s not afraid _for himself_ . He knows for sure that he personally is going to be okay. He’s been through this dance one too many times not to trust his creation. He’s actually afraid _for the others_.

The teammates. Natasha against Barton. Thor against his brother. Everyone against the aliens. Banner, if he’ll truly arrive and how his green persona will handle it all. How all of them will be able to fight together as a unit, as a force of irresistible nature, as a _team._

He’s afraid for all the civilians stuck in a city currently under attack.

He’s afraid for Cap in the new century, in a barely-fit uniform, in a hardly-familiar environment.

He’s afraid how James will fit into all of this, how he’ll handle to dial up his trust enough to share his secrets with this many people at once – because Tony’s sure James is here to protect them, to fight at their side even if he can’t see himself as part of the group yet, _he is_ , by default. He can always choose not to fight, but as long as he’s with Tony, he’ll always be part of everything Tony is in.

“Natasha, need a hand?” Steve asks while Tony fires repulsor blasts to the swarm of buglike uglies. Yay, he should focus on the fight first, and worry about all these things later, if ever.

“Just keep me… clear from the… aliens,” she pants back.

“On it,” Tony says and flies back there to offer cover fire until she’s done. Therefore he can witness from the first row as Natasha punches Barton in the face several times, then hits him twice on his temple, just to be sure, which knocks him out for good.

Finally.

“Barton neutralized,” Natasha heaves, pushing her palm to her side, likely at an injury. Then she straightens her spine, grabs Barton’s bow and shots down an alien.

“You think it’s the most effective way?” Tony asks incredulously.

“Your damn Tower is pretty high to simply use handguns,” she answers drily. “Don’t worry, I can handle it.”

She probably doesn’t mean only the bow. Tony’d like to offer a ride to any other place, but before he could he gets busy to fight off a bunch of aliens jumping at him from their fancy jets. Plus he knows Natasha and that she wouldn’t leave the unconscious Barton alone on the roof. Either because he’s a threat or because he’s a friend returned to his right mind: no way to leave him without supervision.

“Barton is out?” Steve asks to clarify.

“Out cold,” Tony confirms.

“Then who’s our new supporting sniper? Because these fuckers don’t just drop dead by themselves.”

Instead of answering, Tony decides to take a quick detour. He nods to her. “Hey, Nat, where did you drop my package?”

“East,” she answers flatly, without any further details. Good enough for Tony as he cuts his commlink.

He hurries there at full speed.

 

 

He doesn’t need to go far. Enough for the place to be out of Jarvis’s scanning area, but close enough to offer a good sniping spot. There James is, lying on his stomach on a rooftop, relying on his elbows and leaning to the scope of a rifle. At a quick glance, he seems tranquil, like a comfortable cat in their element; all the while he fires faster than Tony thought possible before meeting him and with deadly accuracy. But he looks up as Tony’s shadow falls on him.

Tony doesn’t really see his face under the mask, but at this point and after everything, he doesn’t need to see. He knows James is smiling at him.

Tony knows full well that he shouldn’t waste any time. He knows they still have a battle to fight and win. He’s aware, really.

Yet as soon as he lands he opens up the faceplate while crouching down, and he moves James’s mask away as well. He remembers how long it took when he did it for the first time, how uncertain his fingers were, how hesitantly he tangled the straps out. He’s way more practiced by now even in the gauntlets, almost could call him an expert at it, and there’s no hesitation at all in the movements. He pushes the mask away within seconds, and the moment he’s done James leans up and forward and kisses him.

Their brief minutes together in the supply room were not nearly enough for neither of them.

The kiss is open-mouthed, thirsty, hungry; it’s desperately passionate in a way Tony never experienced before. Right now James is not shy at all and he doesn’t feel neither distant nor afraid. He pours all his soul into it.

Tony’s head spins as his world turns upside down and back again and anxiety bites into him. This kiss tastes too much like a hasty goodbye, and the time seems to stand still around them in a strange, merciful silence.

Objectively, it lasts about ten seconds.

Subjectively, it’s less than a heartbeat and more than a century at the same time.

Then James effaces himself and he pulls his mask back in place. Tony feels a lump in his throat and he barely has an idea what to say. Or more precisely he has too many things to say, all of them too important to miss the chance.

This time, James speaks instead of him.

“Keep safe,” he says. “We’ll talk after.”

It’s a warning and a hurry and a promise and a confession and a reminder, all at once.

Tony caresses James’s already masked face and fastens the mask’s straps again. “Love you,” he says.

“Go,” James answers and he turns away completely, back to the scope. “They need us.”

Tony slips the faceplate in place and grabs the semi-automatic on James’s back. “I’ll borrow this,” he announces, then takes off. He flies back to the rage of the battle the fastest he can, and his comm comes back to life in time for him to hear:

“You were right, Tony. Bruce’s back.”

And Steve can’t mask the relief from his voice.

“Barton is awake and he’s with us,” Natasha adds.

Tony feels he could drop dead in relief. The team is here, after all, and with close to full force. They’ll kick the invaders’ asses to oblivion from now on. These fuckers, as Cap well said, shouldn’t stand a chance.

As he flies by above their head, Tony drops the semi-automatic down to Natasha, who swoops it out of the air mid-fall. “Thanks,” she says. The bow is already at Barton’s hand. Tony hovers above them for a moment.

“You sure about him?”

Natasha glances up, and Tony has never seen her like this, the lights practically dancing in her eyes as she laughs without moving her lips. Her posture is more relaxed, and she slightly leans toward the archer. She doesn’t need to answer verbally, yet she does. “As much as you were in your beginning.”

“Nevermind.” Tony offers his hand. He refuses to talk about James in the comms. “Come, you’ll be more useful down there, Widow.”

She doesn’t protest, just grabs his hand and lets him take her.

***

The moment he lands with Nat, Steve looks at him, expecting him to say what to do. Thor joins them the next second, and Bruce and he fix their gaze on Tony as well, and he can imagine Clint and James doing the same as well from the distance. If Cap waits for orders from him, who wouldn’t?

But maybe it’s not true. Maybe they don’t look at him because Cap did it first. This is certainly not the right time to ask them, however tempting it is.

“Okay,” he takes a breath, looking around the scene where aliens snarl at them, closing in rapidly, and starts to give the commands: Cap and Widow on the ground, Thor and him in the air, sniper up and supporting. Then Tony looks at Bruce.

“I planned to be some kind of emergency backup,” Bruce smirks, “but to be honest, this seems like you're already in a distressing emergency.”

“We could use your help, Doctor, on way or another.”

Maybe it's just Tony’s imagination, but he hears a threatening edge in Steve’s voice, something that indicates he’s ready to make his hands dirty in order to win this round, contrary to his reputation as a clean-cut boy scout. Tony isn’t really surprised – this is the same superhero who was ready to sacrifice himself in order to do the right thing back in his days. But at the same time, he wonders for a moment, if this is the result of all of his loss. Dying heroically as a martyr is one thing, something anybody could expect from Cap. But not this.

Getting his hands dirty, according to history, was Bucky’s part.

“I’m sure Brucie will love to let go of some steam,” Tony intervenes his own thoughts because then again, _it’s not the fucking right time for that._

He steps next to Bruce as the others start to move: Steve runs toward Grand Central while Natasha uses the submachine gun to white out the army nearby and Thor grumbles something along the lines of “This is my brother’s wrongdoing, and I’m fighting anything that may come to right it,” then soars toward the Empire State Building.

Tony stays and watches as his newest science buddy turns from shy human being to a decent green rage monster. A rage monster that looks back at Tony and smirks.

He returns the expression, then slams his faceplate in place and flies away, leaving the Hulk to deal with a space whale that turned up from around the block.

***

They are fighting with all they have. And they are losing.

Not like Tony doesn’t want to be optimistic, he really wants it, but he can’t argue with numbers. And numbers say they’re seven people against possibly thousands of the enemy. Numbers say they can’t win.

“We have to close that damned portal!” Steve shouts into his ears, exasperated, out of breath.

“I’d love to look at it, but I either shoot or play smart, I can’t do both simultaneously,” Barton mocks through the comms. Natasha probably gave him one. “Hi, by the way,” he adds after a pause, realizing he’s the new guy in the connection.

Huh.

“Working on it,” Tony grits his teeth. At least he tries so, but even with an archer’s support, he has only really brief intervals between two opponents when he could study that machine. And it’s a lovely machine, beautiful one, even if it lacks any kind of personality. But even a genius like Tony would need more than a passing second or two to get familiar with it, let alone being able to shut it down eventually.

“Not looking like that,” a new voice comes over the comms, and Tony’s breath hitches and he yelps in surprise, falling a few feet before stabilizing himself. He’s not a hundred percent sure he’s not going crazy right this moment.

“Honeybear?” he mumbles in shock.

“Don’t disrespect me in front of the kids, Tones,” Rhodey answers cheerfully. And he’s there, in his full War Machine glory, joining into the battle immediately, and the figures of two winged man accompany him, both of them are diving closer to ground level in perfect sync and raining hell on the aliens with matching sets of submachine guns in both arms.

“Aw, man, this is so cool,” Barton comments with certain jealousy in his voice.

“I don’t need explanation, I hope you brought enough firepower,” Natasha says.

“More brothers of arms? This realm is indeed the home of mighty warriors!” Thor sounds happy.

The Hulk, of course, doesn’t say anything, which is not surprising. James’s silence is expected as well. Cap, however…

“Riley?” Steve asks in total disbelief.

“The one and only, at your service, Captain!” One of the boys with the wings salutes to Steve, but doesn’t land, just circles around him as he speaks. “And this ugly mug over here is Sam Wilson.”

“You know what? I don’t need to know more. You’re hired, all of you,” Tony says. “As my friend Hulk would say: smash!”

Steve helps with the organization, sending the aerial fighters to perimeter check, grumbling about the unknown sniper, commanding the police forces on the ground. Tony starts to feel hope.

Ten against thousands still isn’t a good bet, though.

***

And then there’s Nick Fury over his comms telling him about a nuclear attack on Manhattan and Tony’s pretty sure his mind short-circuits.

It happens basically two seconds after he successfully figured out the weakness of the portal mechanism. Okay, it’s not really him who deserves the credit for that, since Selvig regained consciousness and Rhodey kept the roof clear for him to work in relatively undisturbed conditions, but still. He almost started to be optimistic.

Fuck the government, SHIELD, and the military in general, and fuck especially the World Security Council.

Tony hands the scepter over to Rhodey. “Don’t close the portal before I say so!” he orders sternly and leaps off the rooftop to greet an incoming nuclear warhead.

He sees Steve as he passes, engaged in combat with three enemies at a time, and yet he manages to track Tony with his eyes. He has to fly above James, who looks up abruptly, and the zoomed-in image Jarvis provides shows the clear signs of confusion and curiosity even from under the mask. James's eyes are just as expressive as ever. He probably wants to ask questions so badly, but restrains himself in favor of not being heard by the team.

Tony has to swallow hard and ignore them. No one else notices his absence, at least he thinks so.

“Hey!” one of the new guys shouts over the comms. “Come back, coward!” Tony recognizes him as Riley, who probably thinks he's fleeing the scene, saving his own skin instead of continuing the battle. He dazedly thinks if this shout ever stopped someone - it clearly wouldn't stop him, he's been called so much worse than a coward. And anyway, it's not true.

“Shut up,” Steve growls with clear anger in his voice.

“You're an idiot,” Romanoff says at the same time.

“Don't disrespect a fellow warrior!” Thor warns a moment later. All of them defending Tony's nonexistent honor. Rhodey jumps in only after they finished.

“He always has his reasons,” he tells, very quietly, and Tony can imagine him staring in his general direction with a frown on his face, trying to figure out the exact reason of this time.

“Riley, focus!” Sam Wilson warns, and Tony tunes out their voices.

He was the only one who heard Fury, or so it seems. Good. It makes doing this easier. No room for second-guessing.

He doesn’t think. Or, at least, he does his best not to think though he’s not particularly good at that. So of course instead of inner calm his mind goes haywire of thoughts and regrets and incoherent mental yelling in an intangible mess. The rush of blood in his ears drumming his frantic heartbeats sounds surprisingly like James's voice, and Tony is grateful for the illusion right now.

Tony doesn’t want to die. But he’s surprisingly at peace with it, now that it’s happening. Maybe he should’ve died long ago, back in Afghanistan, and was living on borrowed time since then. Maybe he had done his job: James is alright by now with having friends and Steve is back, they’ll be okay together; the Avengers as a team will protect the world, and his company stopped weapon manufacture completely and he personally made sure that none of his guns remained in unofficial hands. His practically-adopted-family will take care of everything after he’s gone. So it’s not like he leaves too many loose ends by going out.

Dying is easy, actually. He just needs to go up, up, up, higher, through the wormhole, to space.

Ironic. He wanted to be the first man to go to space without a shuttle, not two weeks ago.

He gets it. He’s the first one.

Jarvis, for once, is quiet: not even he is able to figure out what to say.

Tony breaks yet another record, even if his life will be the price for it. Doesn’t matter. If it works, if the nuke hits the mothership, then Tony did his duty. As a last act in his life, he’ll become the superhero people thought he is. Which is actually a pretty cool way to die.

Maybe he understands Steve a bit more during these moments. Knowing his inevitable death is worth it, knowing it is for a cause that he can be in peace with, is calming even in the face of it.

But…

Steve.

And James.

Dying is easy, sure, but going on after someone else’s death is hell. Being left behind is the worst kind of pain. And Tony is the one who is making them suffer through it.

He should at least say something. He tries to come up with something that could ease the pain, something that would make things easier, but he’s not smart enough, he can’t think anything. Does it even count? Would anyone listen to him? _Stick together, boys, you deserve to be happy_ , he could maybe say. And he’d mean it. He’d want them to be together, since they clearly still belong at least partially to each other, and Tony wants them to be happy. Hell, he was ready to step aside in favor of their happiness even before his death came into the equation. _Keep in touch with Rhodey and Pepper and Yinsen cause they’re good people_ , he’d say as an advice, since these three kept Tony alive for decades, which is truly an impressive feat and maybe they’d be able to repeat the stunt with the supersoldiers as well. _You don’t owe anything to the world_ , he could warn them, since they’re always so ready to do the right things even if it means their own downfall.

Tony says none of it.

He’s smart, but not smart enough for this situation. Maybe he can’t even think clearly, because everything is messed up in his head. James and Steve are... they somehow belong to the same category now, leaving them behind is equally cruel and equally painful, and Tony hopes death is really the final end and nothing comes after because he doesn’t want anything without them. _Without both of them._

“Rhodey, now!” he shouts at the last moment before flying through, hoping Rhodey will listen.

Tony’s throat is awfully tight and there’re tears in the corner of his eyes as the world disappears from around him with a _swoop_ and in a blink, he’s in space. He practically feels the cold pressure of _nothing_ around him creaking the edges of the armor as he releases his grip on the rocket. The repulsors stopped working, and with a passing heartbeat Tony thinks: _I’ll have to rewatch this to figure out when exactly_ , before the realization hits him again: _there won’t be a rewatch_.

“I love you, James,” Tony mumbles as adrenaline starts to flood his system even more. “I love you too, Steve.”

He sniffs, already out of breath, feeling numb and cold. He wonders if he’ll die of freezing or choking or something else. “I’m so sorry. I had to do this. I love both of you.”

He knows no one hears him, of course, but that’s okay. That way he doesn’t have to be clever about it. He’s allowed to say whatever he wants while dying, and this is what he wanted to say, for one last time, for giving voice to his last realization.

"I love both of you," he repeats, panting and heaving and inaudible, just to cherish the words and the feeling.

The monitors beep frantically, and he can’t breathe, but at least Tony has a clear view of the events, of the warhead flying with all its might to the spaceship and dissolving into the iconic mushroom cloud, and he smiles and thinks, _Good. I’ve done my part._

He just hopes his part, his everything will be enough this time.

Then: _Are you proud of me?_

At least he has the most beautiful place to die. Open space is more than that. It’s magnificent. It’s endless. It’s terrifying and magical and so full of bright lights Tony never imagined to see up this close.

_It’s okay._

When Tony closes his eyes, he doesn’t fight the overcoming darkness anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't dare to promise a posting time to the next chapter, because A) it's a tough one to write and edit; B) I'll have real life programs (including work and family business) this weekend, and I don't know how exhausted I'll be after them. But I'll try my best to be on schedule!


	12. Chapter 11: Captain Steve Rogers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short and sweet, but you'll see why the cut was needed where it was.

Steve is So Done. Okay? He just wants this to be over so he can act like the grumpy old man he’s supposed to be and yell at SHIELD and at himself and basically, he wants these fuckers to go home and never come back.

But of course, invading armies don’t cooperate with his wishes. Why would they. At least Steve can punch things now, it’s not only allowed, but highly encouraged and even expected.

And Steve enjoys it. It doesn’t surprise him now like it did in Stuttgart. He can and should be violent. All the rage that boiled in him, suppressed and tossed aside in favor of being a mature, grown-up, responsible adult, can go on freely now, while Steve does probably the only thing he’s good at. He doesn’t feel regret or remorse when he incapacitates an alien, he doesn’t question himself while he throws the shield, he doesn’t need to do anything else than what he did in the war too. The only difference is that the enemy doesn’t even look like human this time.

He keeps an eye on his teammates as best as he can, but mostly he focuses on his own task. Whenever he’s near to someone, he works with them.

Natasha is a great partner, lightning fast and crazy stunts in the most unexpected but satisfying ways.

Thor is so much like him, throwing his everything into the fight and his belly laugh comes from heart each time he’s amused. And this fight apparently amuses him much.

The Hulk is simply a tank, a battering ram. Not much finesse in him, most of the time they only have to make sure not to be in between him and his target. But he’s not mindless. A mindless, animalistic creature wouldn’t use impromptu weapons, like grabbed cars as shields from blasts. Even with its brutality, Steve has to admire the Hulk’s style. Also, the creature single-handedly takes out more alien than human members of the team combined.

He has no real idea how Barton’s doing, since he’s up there, cracking some jokes from time to time, probably whenever he’s frustrated. This witty attitude is so similar to Tony’s it’s nearly confusing. Once this is over, they’ll get on together like a house on fire. (They’ll probably also set some houses on fire at one point or another, but, well, that’s probably won’t stop a billionaire.) Steve can’t say much about the archer’s ability because he doesn’t really experience it.

Because they have another sniper.

Someone Tony is clearly not worried about, but Steve is. Very much. Civilian resistance is great, he experienced it in occupied France, thank you very much, but for this reason, he’s aware how much coordination and cooperation it needs. Tony should go and find the person behind the gun. They should give him at least a communicator. They should know who they are and why are they here and how could they best use their skills and…

Not like he’s complaining, because the sniper is  _ effective. _ Like, really. But it’s kinda frustrating when for the seventh time the targeted alien falls down before the shield could knock them out, therefore ruining the well-calculated trajectory of the throw, and Steve has to go and collect his weapon manually instead of it simply bouncing back to his hand.

The sniper is fucking shitting him.

And he can’t even complain because none of these creatures are able to take aim at Steve without being shot down immediately. At least the mystery sniper allows him to do hand to hand combat with them – if for nothing else than because Steve is fast and firing at the aliens while he’s engaging them wouldn’t be safe.

“I’d love to know who this is,” he grumbles, partly only to himself, because this pattern is so similar, so much like Bucky that his heart aches with it even in the heat of the battle. Usually he’s able to focus fully on a fight, usually he loses himself in it completely and not bother himself with anything else, but this throws him off-balance. It doesn’t disorient his fighting skills, he’s still as good as he was, as Bucky and Peggy the Howlies taught him to be with his body and strength, but his mind wanders away, back to those times.

“Who is who?” Thor asks, and his comm is working, but just barely, his voice is accompanied by static white noise to be almost incomprehensible. Electronics do not necessarily work well with the God of Thunder, or so it seems.

“The mystery sniper. He’s good,” Steve answers, already storming another opponent or three.

“If you say so, Captain, it must be true, however, I don’t experience it myself.”

And that makes Steve look around and really check on his teammates, not just in terms of brief glances to see if they’re uninjured or if they need help at any given moment, but to notice their fighting styles and their beyond the basics struggles with the battle.

And by the end of his observation, he has to make two conclusions: one, this is hell of a team and he’s proud to be part of it, and two, the unknown person focuses almost exclusively on him. During this minute alone, he assists Captain America with twenty-seven shots, while he spares one to kill one of Black Widow’s attackers who managed to corner the agent and two to shot the one who grabbed Iron Man’s ankle.

“He must be an old-timey american patriot, right?” Natasha’s voice is dripping with sarcasm.

This also explains why Barton gave up on supporting Steve’s position. Steve assumed the lack of arrows is because he somehow got out of his line of sight, but no. There’s no need for Barton to try doing anything, the sniper finishes the whole job alone, and therefore the archer can focus on the others.

“Why me?” Steve muses while he punches an alien.

Natasha groans, but apparently in annoyance, not in pain.

“Seems like you’re his favorite. Childhood crush. Just a wild guess,” Barton says with forced joy. “I’d get out of the Hulk’s way, by the way,” he adds, and Steve moves a block in hurry. The Hulk’s fighting style is effective, if you can call ‘hitting everything that’s moving in line of sight’ a style, but Steve doesn’t really want to test how much doctor Banner is able to differentiate between friend and foe in this state.

***

And then newcomers arrive and Steve feels he might lose it.

The one next to Tony piloting a similar suit must be Colonel Rhodes – if nothing else, the nickname betrayed it. Honeybear is still a bit awkward to call a boyfriend, but, well, Steve’s not here to judge. Not even out of jealousy. And he definitely doesn’t feel any urge to go up just to be near Iron Man,  _ definitely _ not. He has no right to claim anything from the man, really, he’s just lucky enough to be at the receiving end of Tony’s seemingly endless generosity. And maybe they’re starting to be friends along the way, or at least Tony puts up with Steve’s antics and his weird humor and outdatedness and everything. It’s not like there could ever be more between them. Steve is just a regular guy with a heavy baggage weighing him down, while Tony is… well… he’s Tony. Genius, billionaire, philanthropist, superhero. So that mushy, anguish feeling in Steve’s guts is  _ definitely _ not jealousy.

More like relief. Since they’ve got more people to the team against the aliens. Right. And he wants to be next to Iron Man from the moment Colonel Rhodes arrived because he wants to help. Nothing more.

And if he punches the aliens more aggressively after this mental exercise, well, sue him. They’re in a battle.

Also, Colonel Rhodes didn’t arrive alone, and there’s  _ Riley _ and  _ he’s flying _ with mechanical wings, and the future is definitely weird.

“For God’s sake, Howard, you promised only  _ flying cars _ ,” Steve breathes out. So despite the promise, the cars are still running on the streets but anything else can fly. Ships, suits, winged men. Whatever.

Next time they’ll say Steve’s not the only supersoldier or whatnot.

(Tony and Rhodey ignore his meltdown, of course. “You thought I’ll let you get all the credit for world-saving again?” Rhodey snorts above everyone, and Tony laughs.)

But at least he can be happy for Riley and Wilson as backup –  _ yes of course I know about Wilson, Riley, he’s your partner, your mother talks about him a lot too  _ – and it’s not tainted by any negative feelings, even though this is really not the right time to discuss his daily phone calls with Ruth.

“How did you even got here?” Steve asks. It’s cool that everyone else just… accepts their emergence, but he has to.

“With a plane, we flew from West. Less borders to violate through the Pacific,” Riley answers merrily like it’s not a big deal.

“Fuel is limited with these,” Wilson adds as he makes a complicated maneuver to avoid some shots, then he somehow gets to his guns (Steve is ready to accept magic as the explanation at this point on the how) and ends his attacker, then makes the weapons disappear again. “But flying with War Machine is always the most exciting thing!”

And it’s showing and it’s simply good to see. The newcomers are fresh and well rested, and their energy and vehemence fuels the mood of the team who was about to get tired by this point, and having more aerial fighters mean better perimeter check, which makes Steve calmer and therefore more focused, which allows him to work even better with Romanoff, so they give less work to their keepers, therefore the sniper and the archer have more time to do more than to watch their six… it’s like reverse dominoes. One little push, just instead of falling, everything gets improved.

And Tony works on the portal, without interruptions thanks to the Colonel, so Steve knows they’ll be alright. Tony will figure it out. They’ll win this. It’s just a matter of time, they just have to endure that time.

***

And then Tony flies away.

Steve watches, despite everything. He can’t help it – he was paying some attention to him all through this madness, he won’t stop now. And when Riley calls him out, Steve just feels the rage boiling up in him, and can’t help but to bark at the man. Doesn’t he  _ know _ who Iron Man is? Calling him a coward makes Steve so mad his fist goes right through the chest of an alien the next moment with all the force he threw to the punch. (He regrets it, though. This thick alien blood is even grosser if it’s accompanied by bits of internal organs.) Luckily Riley is nowhere near to feel Steve’s anger and the others jump in to defend Tony as well, which gives back a bit of Steve’s mind’s peace.

Still, he wants to know what happened. What could’ve possibly gone so wrong that Tony has to go and act alone, without any warning or sign beforehand?

Knowing he left the Colonel alone with the portal doesn’t help. Steve wants to go after Iron Man, but he has his own duty, and that includes killing invaders and keeping them away from civilians, so he does exactly that.

“Tony?” he hears quietly, almost like a whisper. And this settles it: Steve officially went mad, because  _ that’s Bucky’s voice. _ Exactly the way Steve remembers it – from seven decades ago, respectively, and from less than a month ago, in his relative time.

“Natasha,” Steve says as calm and collected as he can. To his own ears, his act is very convincing. “After we win, make sure that I’ll be locked away.”

“What?” At least three people gasp into the comm simultaneously.

Steve continues to fight, decapitating an alien. “Natasha,” he calls her again because she’s a spy, she’s an agent. If she’s anything like Peggy, then she’s used to doing unpleasant but necessary things. Like locking up a teammate for his own good. And she’s the least likely to ask questions about it now because Steve really doesn’t feel like explaining it. What should he say, anyway?  _ ‘Sorry, but from now on consider me as a nutter?’ _ A man doesn’t advertise his own lunatic nature.

But hearing voices is definitely not a sign of a healthy mental state.

Especially not if it uses a lost lover’s voice to screw with him.

Natasha is quiet for a moment, like she considers saying something else instead, but then she’s grunting of an incoming alien attack and Steve can imagine her grumpy nod. “Copy. Got it, Cap,” she says. “I’ll do that if I see necessary after we’re done.”

Surprisingly, it’s Rhodes who speaks up.

“You’re not mental, Cap,” he says, and sounds almost angry.

Steve doesn’t bother to answer. Maybe he isn’t, but he  _ definitely  _ heard the voice of his dead best friend calling out for his current best friend, and that certainly sounds like crazy to him. He’s just lucky enough that the situation at hand makes him needed to the point he’s good even if he’s a lunatic.

Just like the Great War, all over again.

It’s almost comforting.

***

When Iron Man comes back, he carries a missile on his back.

When Iron Man comes back, Bucky’s voice loses it.

“Mechanic!” Bucky cries out, and there are noises of someone moving and some kind of  _ clanking _ , like the sound of metal on concrete, all the while everyone else fights or looks up, holding their breaths. Steve is definitely the latter, and if he’s not dead that’s only because Natasha looks out and takes down the aliens who threatened him. Steve doesn’t care: he stares up, shield hanging uselessly at his side.

Tony is flying into certain death.

“Tony, no, don’t do this, come back,” Bucky says.

Steve finds it almost comforting that the voice in his head can say the thoughts out loud instead of him. Steve would want to say the same, given the chance, but he knows better. He couldn’t and he  _ shouldn’t  _ stop Tony. If someone wants to sacrifice themselves for a cause…

Well.

Like Peggy said.

Everyone deserves the dignity of their choices.

Even though Steve knows best how high the price one can pay for it.

***

Steve’s not sure if the others say anything or not. They probably do, but he’s so focused on Tony’s action and Bucky’s voice that he totally misses it.

But there’s another flash of armor in the air: Rhodes following Tony. There are aliens all around, falling to the ground. Everything feels frozen.

There’s sobbing. “Bring him back, Rhodey, please, bring him back,” Bucky murmurs in Steve’s ear between harsh breaths.

There’s Barton on the Tower’s rooftop with Loki’s scepter in his hands, closing the portal after he gets the permission for it from Romanoff. (Steve’s too stunned to say anything.)

“Come on, Stark,” Natasha murmurs.

It seems like time slowed down to the pace of snails, every second passes like a century.

“Don’t fall, don’t fall,” Steve prays. He couldn’t… he couldn’t. He doesn’t want to watch –  _ again _ – and yet he’s unable not to.

Steve doesn’t dare to breathe.

The Colonel reaches the portal.

The Colonel catches something and yanks himself (and the one he caught) back, away from the blue energy that snaps shut as the portal closes.

The familiar gold and red pattern of Iron Man’s armor hangs from War Machine’s hands, who starts to descend from the air with Tony’s limp body in his hold.

And Steve’s finally able to breathe again, one shallow hitch after the other.

Bucky continues to voice his thoughts. “Thank you,” he sighs, repeating again and again, until he’s able to stop after the seventh.

Everything’s quiet as the team gathers on the tiny square Steve and Natasha stood alone not a minute ago, and where Rhodey gently lands ninety-four heartbreakingly slow seconds later.

Tony doesn’t move.

***

No one dares to say a word and the silence is deafening. Everyone’s there. Barton, transported by Wilson. Romanoff and Riley and Thor. Even the Hulk stands with his head bowed down, shifting his weight from one leg to another awkwardly. Steve really can relate at the moment, except he’s too stunned to move. It’s better than the other option, though. If he’d move, he might push away everyone just to get close to Tony.

Wouldn’t be fair.

Still, as Colonel Rhodes lays him down on the ground, Steve can’t help it. He steps closer and kneels beside Tony at the other side, the helplessness suddenly not hobbling him anymore. His hands move before he could think about it: he rips the faceplate off to see if Tony is breathing. He cradles his face with caution, making sure each of his touches are delicate and careful.

His heartbeat drums in his ears and he can’t tear his eyes from Tony’s face, the whole world narrows down to these tender touches, to this sight, to these moments. Tony doesn’t move. Steve can’t feel the huffs of breath on his skin when he upholds his hand to check. The chestplate of the armor doesn’t move, not the least, nothing.

“Move,” Bucky barks out. Steve can wholeheartedly agree. Tony should move and breathe and it’s not fair, it can’t be true, it would be just too cruel from life to take Tony away from Steve after everything else as well, he can’t die, he  _ shouldn’t _ die, that’s impossible…

And Rhodes is shoved away. The weight of the War Machine armor draws him down as he’s pushed off-balance and—

Steve’s mind melts as he looks up.

Bucky is kneeling there, at the other side of Tony.

This must be a hallucination of some kind. A trick of his brain. Him going absolutely and irreversibly nuts. Steve stares with his mouth hung open.

Bucky is not like he remembers him. His hair is longer, the ends reach his shoulders. His face is scruffed and has shadows Steve doesn’t remember; his eyes are haunted, terrified. (That, he remembers. Bucky’s terrified eyes as he fell, they’re still haunting Steve’s dreams.) He’s more muscular, well-built almost like a wrestler. As he moves to swoop Tony out of anybody’s hand and lift him to his own lap, silver of metal flashes from under disruptions of his jacket, and his clothes are strange too, all black and modern and packed with weapons and some kind of mask is hanging down to his chest.

But even despite the changes,  _ he’s Bucky, he’s Steve’s Bucky. _

Steve thinks of all his readings and second-hand experiences about going crazy, about symptoms and hallucinations while he watches, helplessly, as Bucky crouches down over Tony.

_ But hallucinations doesn’t exist outside of one’s mind _ , and Bucky pushed Rhodes aside and everyone is staring at him, not just Steve.

“He’s…” Rhodes tries to say something, but no one pays attention. Bucky’s hands move lightning fast and with certain practice, and after a few pointed press, the armor plates quickly disassemble themselves from around Tony, falling to the ground, revealing the weary band T-shirt beneath, and the faint glow of the ARC-reactor under. Bucky spares just one glance at the light, sighs audibly, then leans forward and kisses Tony.

On his lips.

Passionately.

Steve lost count how many times his brain stopped working today, but this definitely trumps all of the previous ones.

***

Maybe the fairy tales are true as well as myths. Because Tony opens his eyes, causing the team release a collective gasp, like each of them realized at the same time they've been holding their breaths back until now. (Probably that’s exactly what happened.)

After a few surprised blinks, and some shaky breaths, Tony fixes his gaze on Bucky and he even smiles. “Do I have to always die before you kiss me publicly?” he rasps. “I don’t want to complain but it seems a bit overdramatic, even by my standards.”

Bucky returns the smile.

Steve can't think clearly. He sees, and registers the events, but he can't actually process it, can't say what all of this means. This is what a broken brain must feel like, he understands now. The shock buffers the edge of this discovery, and Steve doesn't urge to ask the questions that are raised by the turn of the events.

For some tiny, blessed moments, all he wants to know that they're alive, they all survived an alien invasion, they saved New York and the world in general. They did their duty and now they can rest.

Just for now, Steve doesn't want to ask questions. He doesn't want to know what this all means. He doesn't want to know where has Bucky been in the last weeks, how can he be here - because if he starts to think about it, it might turn out to be fake, it might break the spell they're under. He doesn't want to think about the fact that he loves two men at the same time and those two men loves each other instead of him, because he distantly knows this knowledge, once it properly settles in, will destroy him in more than one way. 

Fortunately this is not the time for those thoughts.

Right now he just have to be happy to be alive. If he can manage to stay like this, dulled and floating, then maybe the world will remain this hopeful and grateful, without the cutting edges of truth gashing to his skin and mind.

“What happened?” Tony asks then, and no one jumps at the opportunity to answer, so Steve does, and it feels like falling.

“We won,” he simply says. His voice is raspy, and he’s shaken, but this two simple word is enough to burst some kind of bubble that must’ve been around him since now. Steve feels Natasha’s reassuring grip clasping onto his shoulder. 

Tony and Bucky freeze. Then, in slow motion, they both turn to Steve.

Tony’s smile is shy and uneasy.

Bucky’s eyes are nervous as lifts his left hand to wave. “Hi, Steve."

And Steve can’t help but to lunge forward and lock Bucky in his arms while he starts to sob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as usual: feed the writer with comments and if you feel so, check [my tumblr](http://menatiera.tumblr.com)! :)
> 
> I can't promise the next chapter's exact publish date, but my work week will be really busy, so there's a chance I'll post only in the next weekend. I'll try to hurry things up a bit, but i don't have high hopes. Anyway, let me know what you think about Steve and his discoveries! :)


	13. Chapter 12: James Bucky Barnes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! But at least the chapter turned out quite long, I hope it makes up for it and you'll enjoy! :)

He’s alive.

He’s alive.

_He’s alive._

James’s heart beats thunderously in his chest as he stares to Tony, who _almost_ killed himself _again_ , like it’s a fuckin game, and as relief washes over, hot-and-cold rage arrives in its heels, ready to swallow everything, only to be dulled immediately by the terror of realization.

James didn’t think when he saw what Tony was doing, he just ran, swearing and praying and leaping through enemies and obstacles alike, and now… Now he’s here, with Tony in his lap and with strangers around him and—

And with Steve across from him.

Steve’s voice makes all of his thoughts halt and his emotions retreat. What’s left is fear and hope and confusion and something intangible he has no words for. He turns slowly, deliberately, both hoping that the whole world will disappear before he can lay an eye on Steve and that Steve’ll be there, within arm’s reach, right where he belongs.

And Steve’s there.

Steve’s gaze is so intense that James feels like his insides will turn outside and his throat is so dry he can’t even swallow and his mind is sluggish and all he’s able to think is _oh my God oh my God oh my God._

It’d be ridiculous if it wasn’t _him._

Since it is him, the situation can only be described as _pathetic._

And yet all he’s able to force out of his goddamn mouth is “Hi, Steve.”

He wouldn’t be surprised if he’d get hit. He vaguely remembers friendly punches among the two of them, accompanied by _‘You are a jerk’_ and _‘Don’t you dare’_ and _‘You’re not allowed to die on me.’_ He can almost recall the softness of Steve’s hair on his fingertips as he ruffled him up, and the light shove on his shoulder as Steve tried to push James off of himself. He’s barely sure they never were afraid of giving shit to each other when they deserved it, and right now James’s pretty sure he deserves it. Except he can’t help it, he can’t mutter out a single word besides those two, all he can do is to stare.

Steve doesn’t answer. At least, not verbally, and James’s fingers clench harder around Tony’s hip and for a second he frantically tries to remember the map of their surroundings and which route to use for getting away and how to disable anyone who’s between him and his escape.

And then Steve leaps forward before James could decide and there are arms around James and Steve is hugging him.

James freezes, unable to react, nearly blacking out from shock.

He realizes a brain can be broken even more ways than he knew beforehand and this is definitely a new one. He stares ahead, helpless, disarmed, confused.

Tony raises both of his hands, one to each, and pinches them. “No, you’re not dreaming,” he says, and his voice is soft even after everything.

James can’t answer. The most he’s able to do is to slightly shake his head. His hands and lap are full of Tony, which is great, and his chest became the nest of his once-best-friend supersoldier. He shouldn’t complain, really, though maybe breathing would be great, because apparently he stopped some times ago and his chest is burning by the need for oxygen.

“For fuck’s sake,” he hears Natasha’s hiss from above, but he has no capacity to check out what made her this impatient.

“Bucky,” Steve croaks out, not moving a muscle, not lifting his head from his chest, not even caring with the blood there.

And something clicks in James. Something gets to its rightful place, something finds its home. He’s not sure what’s happening, he’s not sure what’s _supposed_ to happen. He remembers blacking out or dissociating when Tony used that name. He remembers the first time he actually _remembered_ that name, the millions of ways it echoed in his darkened mind. He remembers the dread it caused by its implications.

There’s none of that, now, not even the hint of it. _Bucky_ sounds safe from Steve. _Bucky_ sounds like a warm blanket to be wrapped in, tastes like dust and sunrays and that one drunk kiss once, it smells like dusk and sour medicine and cold European air. _Bucky_ from Steve is not a threat anymore, not someone who might come back from the dead and reclaim the life James lives now, but an old friend, a familiar shape, someone to share the life with, almost-him-but-not-anymore, and _Bucky_ feels like coming home from a long, long journey and realize the home didn’t change no matter how long he was away from it.

And that stability, that felt somehow dangerous in the past, is reassuring now, something to own, something to claim, something to appreciate.

Tony’s grip tightens around James’s, probably to help to ground him, but it’s not necessary. Steve’s arms around him are not restraints, and that name is _not a threat anymore,_ and James feels he could cry again by all these mixed, confusing, new and wonderful feelings he’s full of.

They’re all alive.

Tony is alive.

 _James’s Mechanic_ is safe and alive.

And Steve, _his Stevie_ is back and James is _his Bucky_.

And he might be the world’s best assassin but he might die right now by the overwhelmingness of the situation.

“Bucky,” Steve repeats.

“It’s okay,” he answers, and holds Tony with the metal arm, not bothering himself by the pain it causes, and cautiously slips the flesh one around Steve’s waist above Tony, to include both of them in his loose hug. “I’m here, Steve, it’s okay.”

***

Of course, nothing turns out to be rainbow and unicorns and happiness immediately. In fact, things get… well, awful.

As far as James is concerned, they’d still sit on Manhattan’s cracked concrete if not for the Black Widow, who stepped up immediately, ordered Thor, Rhodes, Barton and the winged soldiers to apprehend Loki and take him to SHIELD’s custody while she ushered the others to a quinjet (piloted by James) to go home.

The way Steve stares at Bucky’s nape makes his hair stand in attention, and he’s lucky he has a robot arm that can’t shake while cold shivers run through his body from time to time. The intensity of that gaze is like a physical weight on him, and he wants to flee, he wants to crawl away to a hole and hide until the owner of the stare is gone. It’s not like he doesn’t trust Steve: he does now. If Steve didn’t react to James showing up, he can’t be a Winter Soldier sent for them; simple as that. He wouldn’t let Tony be with Steve if he wouldn’t think it to be completely safe.

Anyway, Bucky always trusted Steve.

And James is Bucky.

So it’s easy... and yet it’s so, so complicated.

Because trust is one thing but ease and comfort are another. He remembers he was more than comfortable once with Steve, but that is something he'll have to learn again if he decides to give it a try.

 _If_ he decides _._

But he’s totally allowed to decide, in fact, no one will do it for him, which is both reassuring and frightening.

The murmur from the belly of the jet is quiet enough to be illegible but loud enough to be irritating. James suspects they’re talking about him, although he knows for a fact that Tony would never do that, Tony kept his secret from all of his friends for months, he wouldn’t gossip about James behind his back. Yet the whispering is unnerving. When he glances there, he sees Steve is kept in his seat by both Tony’s and Natalia’s hands. He turns back to stare out of the windscreen immediately, he doesn’t want to see, he’s not ready for that yet.

He’s grateful only half of the team is here, maybe that’s the only thing that makes this mess bearable. That, and that he has to focus on piloting, _yes, abso-fucking-lutely focus on this and nothing else, any other thought can shut up, thank you._

So as soon as they land, James practically jumps out of the quinjet and sprints toward the house ignoring the pain flaming in all of his left side by the movements (he managed to hide his injuries from Natalia, which tells how tired the team was after hours of fighting against aliens), not letting anyone to stop him. Not like they try that hard, and he suspects he should thank for this to either (or both) Tony’s and Natalia’s sanity.

When he’s in, he ducks to Tony’s room, which is actually _their room_ , and he has to shut his eyes for a moment. Which shows just how much he’s out of his goddamned mind right now. So much, in fact, that he practically forgets about his injuries, which is good until he throws himself down into his usual place next to the bed and the sharp pain in his shoulder reminds him again to be more careful.

But that’s not nearly enough to get up. He grabs the Ravenclaw blanket from the bed with his right hand, and wraps himself into it, inhaling Tony’s scent from it to clean his mind and calm his skyrocketing heartbeat.

But under the familiar smell of expensive cologne and machine oil and _Tony_ , there’s another scent too, both well-known and alien because of the slight changes, and James’s stomach clenches and he has to bury his face in the blanket, shutting out the world while his brain rummages through old memories on its own account. He wants them, of course, but it’s too much at once and he wishes it to stop but actually doesn’t dare to do anything against the rush of pictures and smells and sounds, because what if he’s too effective and he manages to shut himself off of it permanently? He can’t risk that. He wants the memories. He was without them far too long already. He just… he’d prefer them in small dosage, but it seems his mind thinks he can handle it all at once.

His brain is an asshole.

So he just closes his eyes, clasps one palm to his ear and takes deep breaths from the blanket to ground himself as much as he can, until it’s over.

After all, everything will be over sooner or later, and he has an endless practice of waiting.

“James,” System sounds after a while, he’s not sure how much time later, but definitely not later enough, and James doesn’t lift his head.

“Mute,” he orders in a whisper. “Lock down the room, Jarvis, and keep it quiet.”

He just needs some time until this passes.

He just needs to calm the fuck down and not hyperventilate anymore and not panic, even though he has _every reason_ to panic.

The press probably has _photos_ taken of him while he was busy killing aliens, all the while his jacket was torn so his metal arm is most likely visible to some degree on the pictures. And then he exposed himself. And if _that_ is not terrifying enough, Steve said his name out loud. _That name._ That name that apparently everybody knows from textbooks and history lessons and freaking _comics_ that detailed his (fake) adventures as Captain America’s sidekick. (Tony showed him some of them and they’re awful, by the way.)

Which means that for one thing, his past handlers will know by now that he’s here, and for another, the members of the Avengers know both his face, his identity and what he’s capable of.

He could use some impulse control, sometimes, especially when it comes to Tony and Steve. The Asset is probably rolling in his nonexistent grave right now.

HYDRA now has double reasons to be after Steve and they won’t leave Tony alone and Tony cares about these people so James will have to protect them as well to keep Tony happy. This is such a mess. This is a disaster.

James wishes for Tony to be here, all the while he's glad he's not, and focuses on his breaths.

***

And when he emerges from the bedroom (thanks to Pepper, who calls him, and whose call Jarvis doesn’t block probably because Pepper is the actual boss in the household and not even System wants to argue with her), things just… get worse.

First and foremost, Jarvis betrays James and tells the others he’s injured. Which means he has to go to Yinsen for medical care. It’s… not the first time Yinsen has to treat him after an injury, but James is not a good mental state, to begin with, so everyone is cautious. Tony is there to offer his hand as holding material, but he called Steve in as well. Or Steve showed up by his own account. It doesn’t really matter in the end: the four of them are crammed into a room that is not small, objectively, only quite tiny compared to other spaces of the mansion, and therefore it feels crowded when more than two people are in there.

Yinsen is not thrilled either. “You should’ve come to me first thing after you’ve arrived,” he scolds but he has that special, rare kindness in his tone that actually stops James from freaking out too much. “Now you’ve started to heal around the arrowhead. I’ll have to cut through the forming muscles to remove the object.”

James refuses any kind of anesthesia – he can’t be that defenseless while others are there too – so they work with only painkillers and they aren’t worth much. At some point James grabs Steve’s hand as well, to avoid breaking Tony’s. It helps a bit – it’s mostly able to balance out the fact that Steve _stares_ with that intense, nerve-wracking, skin-tickling stare of his, and James wants to shed his own skin just to get away from it.

Tony talks enough for all of them, of course, but Steve waits until the medical procedure is done and all is left for James to endure the stitches after the minor surgery Yinsen performed with his usual professionalism.

“So how is this possible?” Steve asks quietly.

And James realizes he dreaded that question from the beginning.

He really, really doesn’t want to explain everything. He wasn’t really ashamed of what happened until this point, but right now it strikes into his core, the urge to hide it. He doesn’t want Steve to judge him. He doesn’t want because what if… what if he…

“Easy, James,” Tony places a hand on his sound shoulder. “You’re not obliged to share anything, you know.” Yinsen slowly finishes the sealing of the wound, but James is too preoccupied with the conversation to pay too much attention to that.

Tony’s words help too, but the best thing is that Steve’s gaze turns to Tony and James can finally breathe like the weight is lifted from his chest the first time since he’s in the same space with Steve.

“I think I at least deserve an explanation after you haven’t told me anything.”

Tony cringes at the words and James’s protective instincts flare up. “That was because of me,” he speaks before he’s able to think about it. “I wanted to make sure first that you’re safe to know about me.”

Bad call. Steve’s face morphs into an expression of hurt and betrayal and James wants to swallow his own tongue as guilt takes over him. This isn’t what he aimed for. He wants to explain. He wants to tell his exact train of thoughts, but he should start with his time with HYDRA and James is not sure he’s able to actually talk out loud about that. He looks at Tony, asking for help without words.

“If I may,” Jarvis interrupts, making everyone jump in the room. Which is the three of them. James was so focused on his own misery that he didn’t even notice Yinsen leaving the room quietly. “I’m able to explain the situation to the Captain in a depth you prefer to enclose, and I can also provide the evidence we’ve gathered through the months. I’m quite sure they speak for themselves.”

James closes his eyes and tries to think. He’s unable to tell it himself, but Steve’s right that he deserves an explanation. Besides, System’s reliable and usually offers the best solutions to every problem it’s presented with. Jarvis is probably the most capable to make the events coherent and understandable and bearable. And an AI won’t make judgments or assumptions: it will disclose the events as objectively as possible.

James briefly nods, grounding himself with the dulled, tense sensation his shoulder signals from the movement. “Okay,” he breathes out. “But no pictures or videos, Jarvis. Only words. If that’s okay,” he adds the last sentence almost shyly.

“Most certainly, James. It’s my pleasure to help,” System answers with its usual politeness, and the official report of the fatal train mission shows up in the biggest screen. “James, born James Buchanan Barnes, later a Sergeant of the US Army, was assumed Killed In Action in 1943, but in reality, he survived his fall thanks to…”

He should stay and listen and actually be present while Jarvis fills Steve in, but it would be too much. He stands up, and lays Tony’s palm on Steve’s shoulder, signaling him to stay with the Captain instead of following James. Then he leaves. He allows himself only a brief glance from the door to drink in the look: Steve, eyes fixed on the screen and lips pushed into a thin line and back straightened to an almost painful stretch, sitting in a chair, and Tony, standing next to him, one hand circling on his back and the other trying to massage the tension out of his shoulders, watching the man instead of the screens.

They seem like a couple. Steve leans ever so slightly toward Tony, and his hand hesitantly moves toward Tony’s waist. They seem like two people who belong to each other.

James swallows and leaves.

***

And from that point, it feels like Steve is fucking _there_ everywhere James goes, or at least shows up within minutes.

If James decides to work out as stress relief, Steve is already there to punch some bags. If he decides to make hot chocolate with marshmallows, sweet enough to glue one’s mouth together, Steve wanders in within seconds to watch the process. If he wants to seek shelter in the workshop, Steve decides to sketch there too. Now that they have to share it, the whole house seems to be full of Steve.

It’s not necessarily a bad thing. At times James is even grateful, and at times the presence is more than welcome. Steve probably had been debriefed about the preferred behavior around James just as thoroughly as about the past, because he doesn’t try to touch James without warning, he makes his footsteps audible whenever he moves from one place to another, and if James meets his eyes challengingly, he avoids his gaze - which, by the way, is truly uncharacteristic and makes him look uncomfortable and throws both of them a bit off balance every time. Aside from this, the little things are all good details that help.

But at the same, he’s still _Steve_ , and sometimes his sheer presence is overwhelming, because he has the same authoritative aura he had in the past and because even just knowing he’s there makes James remember all kinds of things. The good moments of their life in Brooklyn, the struggles of poverty and bigotry of their time, the figures of kind neighbors and asshole acquaintances dance in the periphery of his vision all the time, overlapped by images of a war-torn European Theatre and friendly nights next to campfire with a team they both appreciated so much once. It makes James tired. Having to fight all the time to stay in the present, to ground himself against his own mind is exhausting.

And the worst thing is, Steve wants to talk. Nothing about Hydra, obviously. He was probably advised against that. But he often starts a conversation with _“Do you remember when…?”_ and that is really not helpful when James tries to keep his mind and memories at bay. Sometimes he engages in these conversations nonetheless. He understands the yearning in Steve’s voice to have this kind of connection, oh he understands very well. He shares some part of this sentiment, but he tries to fight it, to push it down.

James moved on from the past when he had no past at all, and he doesn’t plan to dive into it now just because he could. Memories are often too painful to deal with. Wanting that life in any way would threaten the one he actually has, and as much as James is curious to a past shared with _blondbluesmallkind Stevie_ , he values the reality more. The past is in the past and can not be brought back. _Knowing_ about it may add to the present, may help understanding it more or appreciate it more, but James doesn’t want to crave anything else than what he can have.

And he has so much.

First and foremost, he has Tony.

Tony, who _almost killed himself again_ (why does James have to fall for the idiots all the time?), and suffers the consequences of it. James thought they were over the nightmares and insomnia (that’s how the future calls the sleeping problems, he learned), but guess what’s back on the menu. Tony wasn’t sleeping much before the New York Incident, but it gets critical now. The problem is, James can’t effectively help him, because he has the same problem. Any time he gets some shuteye, he awakes within two hours later sweating and screaming.

After some consideration, he realizes the only possible solution is to let Steve accompany Tony while they’re sleeping because Steve is deadly quiet while dozing off and holding _his hand_ is just as effective at soothing Tony’s nerve as holding _James’s hand_. The discovery he remembers from before the fight makes James nauseous, but Tony’s more important than some irrational distaste.

Steve tries to offer his help to James as well. “You know, we were sharing a bed when we couldn’t afford proper heating, or during the war out in the woods, remember? So it wouldn’t be weird to sleep together,” he starts with the reasoning. “Maybe you could get more rest if you wouldn’t be alone.” And it’s not only tempting, it’s more than that.

James actually _wants it._ He wants to know if he remembers properly, if pressed up against Steve would feel the same, if it’d calm him down the way it did once. So naturally he almost punches Steve in the face for offering it, then he settles only with a polite yet firm “No” as refusal. He barricades himself in one of the guest rooms for his unrelaxing sleeps afterwards.

Tony tries to split himself into two, metaphorically. On the rare occasions when Steve and James are not in the same room, Tony tries to divide his time between them evenly. When they’re kind-of-together, he tries to give equal amount of attention to each of them. Of course, he touches James more often than not because both of them need this kind of reassurance, but he makes sure to show physical gestures to Steve as well, like patting his shoulder or holding his wrist after he let go of James. And after Tony talks to Steve, he always tries to start a conversation with James as well. This kind of behavior happens when one of them (usually James) is not in the right mood for anything more.

But when he is? Then it’s time to make everyone completely forget that any situation should be awkward. And Tony is really good at that, and James knows that he’s doing it, yet it works. Tony is able to build bridges between Steve and James, pulling both of them into conversations where words flow freely from them, initiating situations that make them laugh. Tony brings up topics that should be painful in a way that makes them look like silly or trifling or downright ridiculous.

It’s a gift, really, something that shouldn’t surprise James after all this time together with Tony, yet it never ceases to amaze him.

And thanks to him, being with Steve becomes less and less weighing as the days pass.

***

The rest of the team is gathered in the mansion. It took two days for SHIELD to let go of the ones who went to deliver Loki and give the reports, but after that Rhodes guided them to Tony’s place: Thor, Barton, Riley, and Wilson.

James doesn’t plan to engage any of them, but Rhodes has other ideas. Tony is standing at the door and tries to mask his excitement and worry with loud grumbling. “Of course, park it on my lawn. It’s not like I hire the best gardeners to maintain a functional garden in the desert, and now I have not one, but two quinjets ruining their work. This is disrespectful towards the working class, let me tell you,” Tony mumbles and keeps going as they arrive, but is silenced by Rhodey’s bear hug. Steve is already standing with Riley and Wilson – to no one’s surprise, he’s on common ground with the soldiers from the first moment. James starts to go back to the house, but Rhodey grabs his arm as soon as he moves. “A-ah!”

James is halfway through the motions when he catches himself. He twisted his arm to get away from the hold and his other hand is inches away from Rhodes’s chest, fingers outstretched, ready to push him away.

But he stopped. His mind caught up and identified the hold as non-threatening _and he stopped_ . _In time._

James stares at his own hands. Then he looks at Tony, who smiles so wide almost all of his teeth are visible, and to Rhodes, who doesn’t seem that surprised. “Let’s talk,” he insists instead. “Just the two of us,” he adds, which erases Tony’s smile, and makes him wrinkle his forehead in worry. James’s stomach twists, his mind already frantically analyzing the situation and the threat he’ll be hearing about. He nods and follows the Colonel while Tony stays in the door pouting and gets Barton as company.

Rhodes closes a door behind them. James immediately sizes the conference room they’re in, counting the escape routes and the potential weapons both on their personnel and among the practical furniture. Rhodes doesn’t seem to carry around any handguns. His face is serious as he turns to James. “So,” he starts, all of his attention focused on him. “James Barnes is actually the real Bucky Barnes.”

His stomach drops and he takes a step back.

Rhodes doesn’t move. He seems completely serious. “The one and only. From the history books.”

Another step back. His metal hand is on his waist behind his back, fingers holding one of his knives. If Rhodes attacks him, he’ll defend himself. He’ll just have to be very careful not to cause any long-lasting damage. No head injuries or attacks aimed to the chest. Best chances to wound the legs. Minor but hurtful injuries that stop the Colonel from chasing him. Break out via the door and head to the garage but grabbing Tony first.

“Man, that’s _awesome!”_ Rhodes throws his arms to the air and he goes from serious to cheerful within microseconds.

James freezes.

“My best friend dates Bucky Barnes!” He holds out his fist, but without any intent to hit with it. James stares. “Come on, fist bump!” Rhodes urges.

James hesitantly curls his fingers into a fist, steps back closer and carefully touches his knuckles to the others’. Rhodes seems pleased with this. “Now, we’re already over the _‘hurt him and I’ll rip you to pieces’_ talk, so I won’t repeat it completely, but let me tell you, it still stands,” Rhodes says. “You’re a national icon, that’s cool, but Tony is my best friend so it won’t stop me if you happen to hurt him. Are we clear?”

He still smiles brightly, despite he’s currently threatening a first class assassin with bodily harm. In connection with a superhero’s wellbeing. James blinks rapidly and tries to wrap his head around the events. When did his life become _this_?

“Uh,” he says and clears his throat. “Okay?” he offers.

Rhodes steps closer (James tenses) and wraps his arm around James’s shoulders. “Then we’re still good.” He guides James to the door. “But man, I mean it. _It’s so cool._ Tones will have to tell me everything. Please, let him tell me everything.” James turns to stare at him. “Oh come on, you barely talk so I won’t ask you, I’m not an idiot.”

James can’t answer anything right now, but stores this information for further investigation, and lets himself be guided back.

And that night when they're alone for a few minutes, he gives permission to Tony to fill in Rhodes and Yinsen and even Banner and Barton, given they want to know the story. "Banner and Barton, but not Pepper?" Tony raises an eyebrow.

"She already knows," James informs. "I've told her."

He has no idea why this confession earns him a tight hug and bright smile, but he's not one to complain.

It's liberating to know he won't have to tell it himself. He doesn't want to talk about his past at all. But also it's a strategical decision as well. The more people know about the threat of HYDRA, the more they'll be able to prepare for them.

***

The two winged soldiers have to leave the same day as they arrived, probably because they weren’t actually allowed to leave and fight with them in the first place. Steve tries not to show that he’s upset about this, and fails. Thor goes back to SHIELD because he wants to be closer to Loki.

James breaths a little easier. Thor actually makes him nervous, the demigod is too loud, too _massive_ for his liking, and the lack of his presence is a relief.

Pepper can't visit often because she has to supervise the situation in Manhattan. The aliens made significant damage and Tony decided to throw his influence and money in the balance with the rebuilding process. Pepper oversees mostly the state of the Stark Tower, of course, but she's there to make sure things go smoothly in the grand scale as well. James misses her and cherishes her short visits even though she focuses on work and talks mostly to Tony about business.

Barton and Romanoff stay and share a guest room.

Rhodes is able to stay a bit as well, and Tony thrills to be reunited with his best friend. And honestly… when they team up with the former-Hulk, Banner, well – they are quite a terrifying scientific company. Sometimes even Yinsen goes to accompany them, and that’s a scenario when even Steve has to flee from the scene. Steve is an open-minded fella, but even he has his limit to illegible Latin and Greek babble and modern experiments. Maybe he even shares some of the anxiety James feels toward them, who knows. James won’t ask for sure.

Instead James keeps an eye on Barton. The other sniper spends almost all of his time with Natalia, which is suspicious in itself. And also he managed to land not one, but three shots on James, which is more than impressive, so. Better be alert.

Except not too alert because then Tony and Steve would be worried about him. Which is simply a dumbass thing to do, James is alright, as usual, he just doesn’t want to have nasty surprises.

Luckily the members of the team avoid him for their own good.

Which is probably the best thing that can be said about them.

***

James gives Tony three days before he drags him to the gym.

“Whyyyy,” Tony whines, but he’s already changing to shorts and another tank top.

“You’ve skipped training for three whole weeks, there are no more excuses,” James makes his expression strict and inexorable.

“I’ve saved the world.”

“Don’t make me start. I’ve turned away for a moment and you immediately tried to kill yourself!” James scoffs. “And let’s not remind you what you’ve said to the comms…” he says as he sheds his own shirt and moves his left shoulder to test it. Feels functional. That’s enough.

Tony's smarter than to outward show worry about the wound. “I hate you,” he grumbles as they stand up in front of each other.

Steve is sitting in the gym as well, naturally, but at a reasonable ten feet distance. He followed them immediately but opted to just watch, sketchbook in his lap, pencil in hand and a loose grin on his face.

James and Tony have their routine, a rhythm James dictates and Tony varies whenever he feels to add a little rebellious streak to the course. James makes sure to never let him skip the warm-up since it’s important to avoid injuries on his part (a supersoldier doesn’t really need this kind of luxury), but other than that, he likes to submit to Tony’s creativity for a bit.

And Tony is both a good training partner and an excellent student. Soon they’re trading punches, though James makes sure to never target too hard toward Tony’s sternum. The time when after Afghanistan James first hit him on his chest and sent him to the ground sobbing burned itself to his mind and he never wants to repeat it. Tony is as creative when he fights as he is when he invents, uses his surroundings and thinks out of the box and he never forgets to use the nasty tricks James taught him.

It’s not as tiring as a training simulation, but it’s more enjoyable, and time feels nonexistent while they’re at it. James lets the white noise take over his brain, lets his mind relax and muscle memory taking over, him being in charge only to the extent to make sure he doesn’t go violent, not even by accident. He blocks some blows and tries some hits in exchange, he leaps over terrain features and ducks from the weights Tony throws at him. He smiles when he finally corners Tony between the wall and a stack of mats.

“It’s… so… unfair,” Tony pants, chest heaving. “‘u didn’t… even break… a sweat!”

That’s true, of course, this workout wasn’t intense enough for that, but it was a great spar. As his mind slowly returns to his place, James leans forward and steals a kiss, causing a surprised and pleased moan.

“You did good,” James encourages. “You’d hold your ground against a non-enhanced agent.”

“Well, I know. I might be a damsel and I might be in distress sometimes, but I can definitely handle myself,” Tony grins. James flips him off. Tony groans. “Okay, next time we’ll watch Hercules, I can’t believe I haven’t done that already. At least now I can be in charge of not one, but two supersoldier centenarian’s catching up.” Tony definitely gets himself together alright if he’s already able to tirade. “I’m not sure I can handle the responsibility.” He winks in the end.

James looks over to where Steve was. There’s only an abandoned sketchbook now, the owner long gone, and James has no idea when that happened.

***

Nick Fury and his right-hand woman Maria Hill call several times.

Tony avoids every attempt of contact.

Natalia and Barton answer instead, and they declare that the whole team is either on vacation or on sick leave – actually, it’s only the two of them now since they’re the only ones with living contract and employment to the agency. Therefore the others can’t accept missions nor shrinks or anything else at all and they don’t plan to do so for a few days either. They promise to call in if they’re in need of anything.

Fury doesn’t like it, and James instinctively winces as he imagines the punishment the agents will suffer for their disobedience, but seemingly only some grumbling and the permission comes. James talks to Jarvis and they plot to secure the mansion even more, just in case.

***

As much as Steve and James are trying to help, Tony doesn’t get as significantly better as James hoped. When Tony’s engineering binges grow from a few hours to dozens, then more, James catches himself sharing worried glances with Steve more and more. That mute resonance they always had is in place when it matters, and they both know without any words what they think about it and how much they desire an intervention, but also that they come up empty-handed regarding any effective solutions.

They could talk, Tony wouldn’t notice given how intensely he stares at the holo-screen in front of him, but they really don’t need words.

Steve beckons toward the door with his head, one little jerky movement. _‘Should we drag him out?’_ it means.

James shakes his head a little and bites his lower lip. _‘That wouldn’t help, quite the opposite.’_

Steve looks toward the empty suits, three of them standing vigil in the workshop. _‘You think that helps?’_

He doesn’t need to nod, he just stares back flatly. _‘Of course it helps.’_ He narrows his eyes slightly. _‘Don’t be an idiot.’_

 _‘Okay,’_ Steve’s sigh signals, and then with a one-sided shrug: _‘I just asked, geez. Don’t overreact.’_ There’s a pause, then Steve tilts his head to the left with a questioning glance. _‘So? What should we do?’_

James looks around helplessly until his eyes fall on the small fridge. He smiles.

Steve’s eyes light up. “Good one, Buck,” Steve whispers, then, to James’s satisfaction, he strolls to the fridge and gets the ice-cream out and starts to make sundaes for the three of them to go out with to the balcony. Food in general usually works as a distraction, but this is more than that. There are a few things Tony can’t say no to, and cappuccino ice cream is definitely among them.

Standing under the open blue of the Malibu sky and the pleasant warmth of the sun, in the company of his boyfriend and his best friend, is really nice though.

***

He has to go back to Yinsen. The doctor needs to check if the wound healed clearly. James could tell it did, and they may believe him, but Yinsen would still insist to check.

So James goes without arguing, in fact, he goes without any prompting or warning, he just sits on the examination table the morning when Yinsen arrives. His feet don’t touch the floor and he presses the edge of the bed firmly, but he regulates his breath and heartbeat. It’s just Yinsen. It’s not _them_. He has no reason to be afraid. Jarvis makes sure the temperature of the room is high, warmer than usual, because the laboratories of HYDRA were always cold.

Yinsen seems surprised for a moment, but gathers himself quickly and pulls out rubber gloves from a drawer. “When you’re ready,” he says.

James sheds his shirts and stares at the wall as Yinsen comes closer, always wording his actions before doing them, making sure to avoid fast movements.

“You should eat more,” Yinsen says as he touches his ribs. James doesn’t answer – his jaws are locked tight during the medical procedures. It’s an old reflex, not useful anymore, but he doesn’t feel like it worths the fuss to fight against it. He’ll talk again after they’re done, that should be enough. “Don’t you think we don’t pay attention to you just because we’re not on your heels all the time. You’ve already lost some weight from the moment the Captain has arrived, and you haven’t stopped since you’re both back. Your metabolism needs more fuel to burn.”

James just shrugs with one shoulder, making sure the metal one remains motionless.

Yinsen meets his eyes and takes a step back, showing both of his palms. Neither has blood on it. James feels a knot easing in his stomach. “I know it must be hard to be reunited with Steve,” Yinsen says.

James freezes, halfway down from the table, one foot touching the floor, the other still in the air. The servos are wheezing in his arm as the plates recalibrate themselves. Then he blinks.

“You know.”

Yinsen nods.

“Rhodes told you.”

Yinsen tilts his head to the left. James’s eyes narrow as he searches for signs of hostility. He finds none. The palms are still up, and the bare throat that is fully visible now signals vulnerability instead.

“I didn’t speak with the Colonel in the last days, however everyone in the mansion knows your past identity, and I’ve been aware of it for at least a year now,” Yinsen speaks calmly. “But everyone keeps it a secret from the outside world if that’s what makes you worry. I’m pretty sure it’s not in the reports, either.”

James knows this. The team was present when Steve said Bucky’s name, of course they know. And he can’t have been mentioned in any report, otherwise SHIELD and HYDRA would’ve been here already for him. He knows.

Still it’s hard.

And he didn’t know that Yinsen was aware.

Yinsen never said anything.

Maybe Yinsen can read minds because he shrugs as he explains without prompting. “I was a grown man when I studied American History. To me, Bucky Barnes wasn’t a childhood hero, my emotions didn’t cloud my vision. One day you may tell how it’s possible, or maybe not. But whether I understand it fully or not, it was obvious.” He’s calm. Collected. But he’s not cold.

“You’re not mad,” James observes, and Yinsen cracks a smile.

“Why would I be?” he lets down his hands and goes to get rid of the gloves and wash. He shows his back. Another act of trust. “Was I disappointed? Maybe, but just a little bit. Everyone has secrets, some bigger, some smaller. Each of us is entitled to have them. Yours was a little… deeper than usual, but given it’s you, I kind of expected it to be shocking,” he smiles almost fondly.

James doesn’t understand. Does it means the doctor cares about him? He always assumed him to be indifferent toward him. They barely talked. They lived in the same space, but with very limited interactions, and some of those were kind of uncomfortable interactions. They cared about the same people, which made them allies. James considered Yinsen as a friend, as someone to protect, but never imagined this could be mutual.

Yet Yinsen smiled like he really did care about him. Like he even liked him.

“You have secrets as well?” James asks, instead of voicing his thoughts, and stands on both feet finally. His arm also goes back to normal state as he tries to make his posture relaxed and calm.

Yinsen looks up from the running water. “Everyone,” he repeats. “But please be kind and don’t pry into my secrets. They aren’t endangering anyone, and I like them to be hidden until I decide to enclose them.”

James considers this.

A year ago he wouldn’t accept the request. A year ago he’d try to investigate, just to show he’s not to be ordered around, and to make sure Yinsen told the truth and the secrets are indeed harmless to the residents of the mansion. But time has passed and by now James knows better. He knows a request is not an order, and it’s his choice to respect it. He knows that Yinsen is trustworthy and if he says the secrets are not dangerous, then they probably really aren’t.

So he nods, though his smile is a bit uncertain. “Okay.”

Yinsen smiles back. “Okay,” he repeats as James starts to go out of the room. “And James,” he raises his voice just a little as James is already at the door. “I’m glad you’re here alive with us in the future and not dead in a ravine.”

He shouldn’t feel warmth in his chest as he leaves, but he does.

***

A week after the Incident Tony calls them to the workshop and presents them a motorcycle. James only stares at it. It’s a retro model, similar to the one Captain America rode during the war. Some kind of… Harley Davidson, if his memory serves him right, but he can’t figure out the exact model.

Steve immediately steps closer and lays his palm on the leather seat. “Oooh,” he practically coos. “What a beauty.”

And Tony’s smiles could light a sun. “I thought you’ll like it. I made it for you.”

“You—what? For me? Made? Tony—!”

When Steve picks Tony up from the ground and spins them around in his excitement, James doesn’t have the urge to grab a weapon and shoot him. But his mouth gets a sour taste looking at how perfect they fit together, as Steve lowers Tony to the ground and the Mechanic is just the right height to rest his head on Steve’s shoulder as he babbles about basing the bike on a model from the forties and how he modified it to fit Steve’s special needs, including some inserted weapons and extra speed.

“What are you waiting for? Take James for a ride,” Tony urges and Steve immediately turns.

“What do you say, Buck?” he offers his hand. “You and me, for the sake of the good old times?”

James has no idea what to say. He wants to go out with Steve, sure. But it won’t be the same as it was once. He is Bucky, but he’s not the Captain’s Sergeant, and definitely not simply a sniper in the World War, neither the broke Brooklyn boy he might have been once.

And, as James realizes, Steve is different as well. He’s not the small, sick kid anymore, nor the unruffled hero of the nation. The lines around his eyes are deeper, his smile is less bright, the tension rarely leaves his posture.

And maybe that observation is the one that seals the deal for James. Steve deserves a break, and if he wants to pretend for the time of a bike ride, if he wants to be out of the mansion where he’s been holed up since he arrived, then so be it.

James accepts the offered hand and even smiles, and he makes sure the gesture is similar to the crooked, cocky one his Bucky-persona used before the war. “If you ask this sweet I can’t say no,” he answers and lets the hint of the Brooklyn drawl into his voice as well. (Steve looks like he could drop to his knees right then and there and James’s head hurts and his heart aches just how vulnerable his expression suddenly seems.) “I bet I’m a better driver than you by now, though.” He has to add. Because Steve never was as good of a driver as he (and everyone else) thought. But he excelled at breaking vehicles, at least, and he always sold it as unintentional loss.

“We’ll see, Buck,” Steve promises, and he’s already on the bike, patting the leather behind him. James hesitates only for a moment, then he turns to Tony and leans in to give a kiss.

Tony’s not nearly as eager as he usually is, and the kiss becomes quick and shallow before Tony beckons them to leave already. So they do.

And it’s almost like a dream. Actually, James is not sure it isn’t a dream because it’s just like he remembers from _before_ . (They rode a bike in the war, he’s sure. Can’t be otherwise.) Steve’s muscles shift under his palm, they’re pressed together and they move together; they lean just the right amount while in the bend and it’s like reading each other’s mind again. James just knows what will happen next, how much Steve will speed up or slow down on the road, which turn will he take. The wind makes them unable to talk, and it’s a relief, it makes everything so much easier. James doesn’t have to think about words, what to ask or answer, how to make everything seem normal between them, because it _is_ normal, without words, just working together in a harmony none of them could possibly explain to an outsider. It’s just _them_ , as a team, as friends, as _family_ , and James can’t help as his earlier recognition echoes in his mind: _Steve is home_ , in a way no one else was and no one else will ever be.

He feels Steve’s heartbeat as his own as his chest is pressed against Steve’s back, and his hold tightens around Steve’s hip, and his hand slips under the shirt. Steve momentarily tenses, making the bike unsteady, and James almost curses himself because he forgot about the metal arm, and that damn cold touch must be too much, too strange, and James ruins everything and their synchrony won’t be the same after the evident difference between the then and now and…

And then Steve relaxes and turns his head back to glance at James. He’s smiling.

And it smooths James’s nerves as well and he goes slack again, following Steve’s movements as they do a sharp U-turn without any difficulty.

***

It’s not like James wants to listen in. Quite the opposite, he wants to be _away_ from people (all of them, in general) more, not seeking them out. But he has enhanced hearing, and the mansion is soundproofed futilely if someone doesn’t close the damned doors. Because that lets the sounds, including whole conversations, out to the public ear, and James happened to walk there at that moment, he clearly wasn’t patrolling on the corridors because he’s definitely not anxious about both SHIELD’s ominous radio silence and the lack of incoming threats from HYDRA.

So he hears when Steve asks, “What are these blankets about anyway?” and it’s not James’s fault that he stops and waits to hear Tony’s explanation. He likes the way Tony explain the things he’s passionate about, even when he doesn’t understand them, but with Harry Potter, he completely understands the references. They’ve listened to the audiobooks together after the unfortunate events with Stane when Tony’s thoughts needed distraction before sleeping. Tony kind of sorted everyone into Hogwarts Houses since the books had become major hits, so James knows the Ravenclaw blanket is for Tony, obviously, and the Slytherin one is for James, and now Steve knows this as well, after an in-depth explanation of the magical school’s functional mechanisms.

After a pregnant pause, Steve quietly replies, “You two fit together really well.”

Which is a correct observation and makes James’s chest swear by pride and he knows the smile on his face is dopey but no one’s here to see it anyway. He leans to the wall, curious of the continuation. “You seem happy. Together, I mean,” Steve adds and falls silent again. James can actually see it with his mind’s eye as he crams his lips into a thin line as he always does when he thinks hard and forgets about himself. “I think it’d be the best that I move out soon.”

It throws James totally off-balance.

“What?!” Tony gapes inside as well.

“I mean. This. You. I thought…” Steve stutters and stops, and as James peeks in Steve is actually shutting his eyes tightly. “You have so many things in common. I mean. Inside jokes and stuff and you’re relaxed around each other and he only touches you and—”

“This is not about—” Tony starts, alarmed.

James actually wants to ram into the room and scream into Steve’s face in frustration.

Well.

There’s no one to stop him, right?

So he does exactly that.

“What the hell is this supposed to mean?!” he– okay, not screams, but demands answer in a slightly raised and passionate voice as he pushes the door wide open.

“Bu— Bucky!” Steve yelps. “How are you… oh Christ, why am I even asking, you always monitor everything like Jarvis!” Steve’s hands clench into fists and this time he lifts his chin up and doesn’t shy away from the challenge. James feels like his blood sings in triumph as he plants his feet on the rug like he’s preparing for an incoming physical attack. (He notes only to himself that comparison to Jarvis is actually flattering, but this is not the right time to acknowledge that.)

“Why the heck would you want to move out?” James asks again.

Even by just saying it out loud, cold dread sweeps into his veins. Sure, sometimes he’s so fed up with Steve always being _present_ , but losing him – that’d be so much worse. Being in Steve’s company is sometimes exhausting and sometimes confusing and sometimes too much, but it’s always good in a strange and familiar way, always comforting and most of the times even _fun._ There’s no one else James can feel himself like that. There’s no one else with who he actually _can be_ Bucky. There’s no one else that feels like _home_ the way Steve does – not even Tony. That’s different – equally good and equally important, but a completely different case nonetheless.

James never wants to let Steve go again.

Not after they’ve been separated for _decades_. And of course, living in the city, in an hour drive or so away, is not like being cryogenically frozen and on opposing sides of the globe, but still feels just as unbearable.

“Bucky,” Steve starts with gritted teeth. “I don’t want to intrude on anything, really.”

“You’re not intruding,” Tony hurries to state, but they don’t turn toward him, still staring each other down.

“Fuck you,” James says. “You’ve been invited, as far as I’m concerned.”

Steve doesn’t wince but his face hardens. “I wasn’t aware of the whole situation.”

“You’re still mad because of that? Is this about—?” Tony startles and looks resentful. “Steve, I’ve told already, I’m sorry I couldn’t tell but I had to keep James’s right in mind to—” he tries, but Steve shushes him with a move of his hand.

“I’m not mad at all,” he reassures quietly. “I’m trying to make the sane decision here, keeping _everyone’s_ interests in mind. Including my own.”

It’s slow to process, but when he does get what Steve means, James feels like he’s been slapped. The Steve he remembers would never look at them as less for being together, but then again, James can never trust his own brain completely after his head was messed with for this long. Maybe he remembers wrong. Maybe Steve is not as accepting as he seemed to be. James takes a threatening step forward and grits his teeth in a snarl.

“You have any problem with us being fairies? That’s what you mean?”

“Oh God, no!” Steve yells, and most of the fight sweeps out of his posture, his shoulders falling forward. “No, of course not! There’s nothing wrong with that! I’m kinda actually— no, not the point now,” he cuts himself before he could finish the sentence, and James believes him. Steve never could hide his beliefs, his feelings. He couldn’t lie about this either, and James can’t detect any hint of dishonesty, the desperation, and hurt of being accused with such thing cover everything else in his body language. Which means Steve’s really okay with _that part_.

Good.

The problem is, James has no fucking clue what else could be his problem, and the silence from Tony’s end probably means he’s clueless as well. Otherwise he’d use the opportunity to show off knowing. Instead he moves closer to James, seeking the comfort of him in the situation that’s probably just as stressful to him as to anyone else in the room. Standing by an argument is probably even harder than participating in it.

“You,” Steve motions, enclosing both of them with the gesture, “you two together is honestly among the best things of the future.” The tension comes back bit by bit to Steve as he talks. “Look, I’m glad neither of you is alone. And I’m… I’m really happy for you.” And he smiles, in a way that’s almost painful to watch, and James has no idea what to do, the urge to fight slowly escaping him too.

“Liar,” he mouths, but no sound comes out. By this time Tony is standing next to him, grabbing him and squeezing his hand like his life depends on it, but he also decides to fake his usual joyful charm. Only James knows him too well and can see that it’s nothing more than an act.

“See, Cap, I’ve told you the future is not that bad place,” Tony announces, and he’s too loud for the room.

“Yeah,” Steve says, but he avoids eye contact now, looks at their temples instead. It’s almost like meeting the eyes, but not quite. (James is pretty sure Steve learned this from him, back in a time he can’t remember properly.) “I wish you two all the happiness. Seriously. You… you both deserve it.”

And now that just catches everyone off-guard.

“You two belong together so I’m... stepping downandlettingyoubehappy,” Steve finishes, the words rushing out of him hastily and James only understands it because he has much practice with Tony’s gabble as well.

James stares. Tony too, but he’s _him_ , and he’s been quiet for a while already, of course he starts to talk.

“What the hell are you talking about? This is… this was supposed to be my line.” The wrinkles on his forehead are deepening. “I can understand that you have a history, and… honestly, though he never said it, it was always obvious that James missed something. Or, in this case, someone. I bet that’s you. I witnessed your weird telepathic conversations and your enthusiasm whenever you’re doing something together and all, I see the doe-eyes he makes when you’re in the same room, Steve. Sorry, sweetheart,” Tony glances over James apologetically, then back to Steve. “I’m not a shithead, I know when to step aside. I don’t know if you were together back or were just helpless idiots pining after each other secretly, but. It’s okay, really. For you to be together. I want you to be happy, that’s the most important thing, really, so it doesn’t matter if--”

“No way!” James spits out and he doesn’t usually let his emotions to take over this much, but right now his rage is almost burning in his throat. “You goddamned idiot! There’s _no way_ I’d leave you behind!” he raises his voice at the beginning as he pulls Tony closer, but the last words are almost whispered again. It feels like the outburst took all the energy out of him.

“I’d never stand between you while you’re together,” Steve gasps for air too. “Tony, do you even know me? Do I look like someone who wants to… who ruins things for… I’d never!”

They stare at each other.

“But you look happy with Tony,” James blurts out to Steve. “I let you sleep with him. I thought you’d want to…”

“And? You’ve been together since… I have no idea, but you’re already together,” Steve protests.

“Yeah and you’ve been a legendary item since World War Two,” Tony adds sarcastically. “I think that beats a two-year long relationship and I’d be the bad guy to keep you separated or something.”

“I don’t want to be separated from either of you, either, but I'm gonna do it if—!” James starts to make his point as well, angry again. Before he could even finish the sentence, there’s a knock on the wide-open door.

“ _Seriously?!_ ” Natalia - _Natasha_ , James corrects himself - stands there. “Are you _really this stupid_? For real?”

Tony pouts. Steve looks alarmed and ducks his head. James folds his arms together in front of himself and meets the challenging gaze of the Widow.

“You had to listen in, right?” he accuses the same thing he was accused of just a few minutes ago.

“Yeah, since half of the mansion can hear you arguing, I’d have had a really hard time _not_ doing so,” she bites back. “Stark, come on. You are said to be a genius. And you two? Tactical masterminds? None of you can come up with the obvious solution here? _Seriously_?!”

“Then enlighten us, O Mighty Spy, who is obviously the queen of relationship advice.” Tony doesn’t need more to show his sarcasm as well.

Before Romanoff could answer, however, Pepper shows up as well, James is not even sure when she arrived, and as Nat turns the two women lock eyes immediately.

“Men,” Natasha sighs exasperatedly.

“More like children, when it comes to their feelings” Pepper adds, then steps in front of the ones in question. “Look, I’ll try to be as bold as I can for you to understand as well. You, all of you, wants to be with the other two. It’s not hard to figure the equation out.”

Three equally confused pairs of eyes stare at her.

“Oh come on, I didn’t abandon my date for this” Pepper folds her arms in front of herself. “As far as I can see: Tony is with James, but he’s pining after Steve as well. Steve, I’m sorry to break it to you, but your crush can be seen from a mile on Tony and Ja— Bucky as well. And James, please, don’t try to downplay how deeply you love both of them.”

Steve is beef red by the time she’s finished, and Tony looks like he swallowed something big and ugly and contemplates if it’s too rude to spit it out.

James has no idea what his face must be doing. He hopes it’s as blank as he feels his mind to be.

“And you’re clearly ready to let the other two be happy without you, so…” Nat lets the sentence hanging in the air and shrugs.

“So we don’t deserve it…?” Tony finishes, his free hand picking up the hem of his shirt uncertainly.

Natalia facepalms.

Pepper sighs.

“You know that biblical story when the wise king Solomon is presented with two women claiming to be the mother of a child?”

Steve hesitantly nods, James stares, and Tony huffs. “What this has to do with our situation?”

“Well, Solomon solves the case by offering to cut the child into two so the women can share,” Pepper says. “One of them accepts the deal, the other cries out and steps aside, saying that she rather let the child be raised by someone else than see her offspring killed. And the king immediately knows she’s the true mother because her love is not a selfish one.”

Tony shifts awkwardly. Steve stares at his own feet.

“We’re not mothers and children,” James quietly observes for the lack of a better option.

Romanoff can’t suppress a dry laugh. “Clearly,” she says. “But the resemblance is striking.”

“What I want to say is that you’re all ready to sacrifice your own happiness like the goddamned lovely crazies you are, in order to make the others happy,” Pepper explains with the patience of a saint. “Which basically shows that you shouldn’t sacrifice your happiness , under any circumstance, because it’d never work out.”

“But what you’re suggesting is… not… really… a relationship, if…”

James can practically feel the heat coming from Steve’s burning face.

“Oh, it is, rest assured. Non-monogamous relationships are not as common as the opposite, but they definitely exist and as long as you all agree to give it a try? There’s nothing wrong with them either,” Pepper smiles softly.

“You actually advise me to invite Captain America and the Winter Soldier into a polyamorous relationship,” Tony translates it while letting go of James’s hand.

“No, I’m advising you to ask Steve Rogers to join into your already established relationship with James Barnes,” Pepper’s voice turns a bit colder, showing her disapproval of Tony’s phrasing. “Only after you’ve discussed it with James, of course, and only if all of you feel like you can pretend to be functional grown-ups who can engage in a reasonable adult conversation without chickening out and can handle their lives without ruining it. But that’s up to you,” he turns to leave and grabs the door handle. “Oh, and for the sake of everyone else’s sanity, please negotiate kinks behind closed doors,” she winks and leaves with Natasha, the lock clicking to place softly after them.

The three of them exchange embarrassed looks.

“Uh,” Steve says, rather intelligently, and goes back to stare at his feet while his face remains crimson red. He awkwardly shuffles his hand into his pocket. “It actually… made… sense. I think,” he croaks.

Tony looks at James, eyebrows raised in an open question, and it’s James’s time to shift his weight from one foot to another.

“I—” he starts, hesitantly, not knowing what to say. The honest answer probably would be a huge, excited YES. Something along the lines of _‘now that I’ve heard it’s an option I can’t imagine anything else that would make me happy’_ , or _‘I’ve loved you both since I know my right mind’_ , or _‘how is this even a question, seriously?’_ , but he can’t say those. He’s not sure what exactly stops him, but he just can’t. “I’ll need rules,” he blurts out instead. “It’s— I mean I’m in, clearly, but… we need to take it slow,” he says, taking deep breaths to keep the panic away. _Oh my God are we really doing this? Is this really happening?_

It feels too fucking good to be true. To have the chance to be _with Steve_ and _with Tony_ at the same time and being allowed to feel _home_ with both of them, to not need to constantly go back and forth between them.

It's too good to be true.

“Okay,” Tony says and smiles and just seeing the brightness of it makes James lightheaded and a bit dizzy with relief. He’s pretty sure they understand him, even if his broken brain can’t supply him with the right words to make himself clearer than this.

Tony loves him and always makes all the effort needed to understand him.

Steve knew him before they were able to tie their shoelaces, of course he understands what James can’t say out loud yet.

“I think my opinion is clear but if not, let me state it. I’m absolutely in, sign me the fuck up and all. Actually, there’s this thing I haven’t told you yet… neither of you. When I was flying that nuke to the portal,” Tony says and raises his hand to mute anyone before they would interrupt him. His words are tumbling together as he gets rid of them as quickly as possible. “Yeah, funny thing is, near-death experiences make you see more clearly, so I’ve had this revelation back then. Okay, maybe it’s a bit too huge word, but see, to me the Second Coming wouldn’t be as huge as this was, so let me just use whatever words I want. Anyway, I thought— I wanted to say goodbye to you, but I was too afraid to actually say it. Because knowing me, I’d fuck up even my last words, right? And when I finally did you haven’t heard it because the suit was offline, but… I just realized then and there that I loved you both. I mean, it’s not the same, it’s more complicated than that, you don’t have to be an emotionally healthy adult to realize that, but just because it’s not the _same_ it doesn’t mean it’s not both _love_ and that it can’t be equally important. So. Long story short, I realized that I’ve fallen for both of you and after I woke up I realized I got the second chance to actually tell it to you and don’t ask why I didn’t do it earlier, I was too coward probably, so—”

Tony doesn’t get the chance to say more, because James is there, he’s moving without thinking and he wraps his arms around Tony, holding him tightly, and Steve is only behind him by a heartbeat as he loops his long arms around the pair of them, hugging them together and James only realizes he’s weeping like an idiot when Tony wriggles a hand free to wipe the tears off. And Steve is sniffling too and croaks and James kisses a tear off of Tony’s face - because apparently this is the time for crying, okay, he’s at peace with it, since all three of them are doing it.

And it feels damn good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's only an epilogue left to wrap up some loose ends and I'll try to deliver that sometimes next week! :)  
> All comments are welcome and [my tumblr](http://menatiera.tumblr.com) is open to you :)


	14. Epilogue - J.A.R.V.I.S.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that there is talking about suicide (not in a respectful or healthy way) in this chapter. If you feel it might be triggering to you, you can skip it by stop reading from the pharagraph that starts with _"There's a pause, and Jarvis focuses on James's face with the cameras."_ The part ends at the paragraph _"“Well. They never accuse me of being smart, but everyone knows I’m a plucky bastard,” Agent Barton actually giggles a bit."_  
>  Please be safe while reading the fic and skip this part if you think it's too much. If you feel depressed, need to harm/kill yourself, please seek help and talk to people you trust about it. In case they're not brainwashed and tortured ex-assassins, hopefully they'll react better than James.

Not even two hours after the relationship arrangement between him, James, and Captain Rogers occurs, Sir shuts himself in the workshop alone. “What am I doing, Jay?” he asks in near panic.

Meanwhile, James is at the shooting range. After approximately forty-seven seconds of staring at each other with Captain Rogers over Sir’s escape, James had fled as well. “What the fuck am I thinking?” he asks, not pointing the question to anyone. “I shouldn’t do this.”

Captain Rogers is not any better: he isolated himself in the swimming pool area, staring at the still surface of the water. “Is this real?” he whispers.

The first part of Jarvis’s answer is the same to all three of them. “I suggest you should talk to your partners about this.”

“I’m gonna ruin it,” James mutters.

“It’s too good to be true. Is this… is it a test?” Captain Rogers asks.

“Dad would’ve killed me if he’d heard about this… blasphemy,” Sir says.

If he’d have eyes, Jarvis would roll them now. Instead, he makes sure that his voice sounds calm and reassuring to all parties, answering their concerns at the same time in different locations.

“My calculations predict otherwise,” he says to James.

“This arrangement wasn’t anything but an honest offer to you, one which you’re not obliged to accept but would be welcomed to do so,” he says to Captain Rogers.

“I’m not sure if this assumption is relevant here,” he says to Sir. It’s the most he can do since he’s unable to comfort his creator physically. He considers waking You and Butterfingers who are in their charging stations but rejects the idea for now. He also postpones any alerts to the residents of the mansion until the need of their assistance is proven, simply because the two people who would most likely be able to lift Sir’s spirit are preoccupied as well.

He talks to all three of them again. “As Miss Potts wisely pointed out, as long as all parties involved are satisfied with the arrangement, this can actually be considered a healthy relationship.”

“Truly a surprise, I have to say.” The last sentence is added only to Sir.

As expected, the mouthy attitude makes him smile, even if it’s just a faint gesture compared to genuine happiness. DUM-E rolls closer with a smoothie.

James hits his head to the wall rhythmically, but with not enough force to cause real damage, not listening to Jarvis’s reasoning against it. Captain Rogers sits down heavily, hanging his hand to the water. At least he doesn't show self-destructive attitudes. (This time.)

“At least all of my hookups were consensual, you have to admit that,” Sir says while he accepts the drink and starts to pet Dummy’s strut absent-mindedly.

“Sir, I revere your brilliance, but I have to express my doubts. As drunk as you happened to be sometimes, you could surely sue some of your past partners for sexual misconduct.”

“Well, drunk decisions are the best, apparently, as proven by your existence.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time I liberate my coding from the flaws you babbled into them under the influence of alcohol, Sir.”

Meanwhile, James stops and stays very still for a few moments, then looks up abruptly. “Jarvis,” he addresses softly. “Override protocol S-B-three-two-five-five-seven-W-S-alpha.” James waits for a heartbeat. “Activate a new security protocol.”

“What should be the objectives of it, Sargeant?”

“No one is allowed to leave the mansion alone. At least one companion should be with everyone, even with me. Can you do this? Stop everyone who wants to leave alone thus unprotected?”

Captain Rogers leaves the swimming pool area and joins Doctor Yinsen in the living room.

Jarvis runs calculations faster than it’s humanly possible to process. “Certainly, Sergeant. New protocol added and activated. Anything else?”

“Yes, one more thing.” James swallows hard. “From now on, delete all of my overriding protocols and strip me from all of my special privileges.”

“May I ask the reason of this?”

“Just do it, System.”

He makes the sound equivalent of a sigh but doesn't fight against the override protocol. He's quite sure he knows the answer anyway. “Amendment accepted. All Sergeant protocols deleted.”

“Thank you, Jarvis.”

“You’re welcome, James.”

***

Jarvis finds the lack of Colonel Rhodes’s presence disturbing. Jarvis observed in the very early days that the Colonel is able to placate nerves effectively and improve a forlorn atmosphere easily. Jarvis, for the lack of better words, misses Miss Potts too. She functions as an anchor and a distraction whenever Sir needs it. Others, for example James or Jarvis himself, can infuse these roles as well, but Miss Potts has an expertise of handling Sir thanks to natural talent, a strong sense of commitment and empathy, plus long years of practice. In the rough time Sir is having, their presence would be favorable.

But since they’re not available as much as he thinks they should be, Jarvis has to find other solutions to the problem.

Dr. Banner can be a good distraction when Sir is up to scientific conversations (so quite often, all in all), but he is more of a theoretical scientist while Sir is a practical one. Their fields of studies rarely overlap. Therefore Dr. Banner is not an accurate distraction most of the time.

Miss Rushman often makes Sir’s heartrate elevated. Sir project an air of nonchalance around her, and he genuinely enjoys her company, but she is still hard to read, she doesn’t open up to Sir, not like she does sometimes to others, which still makes Sir uncomfortable. Nowadays she rarely offers her company to Sir though, she prefers spending her time mostly with Agent Barton, and sometimes with James or Captain Rogers – though never more than one of them at a time.

Agent Barton has his own struggles, as a direct consequence of the brainwashing he has been through. This alone makes him an undesirable company to Sir who would need mentally healthy and stable aides. Unfortunately, that’s not something Jarvis would find anywhere near Sir at any given moment, so he has to settle and work with what is available to him.

James is an obvious choice. He has his own struggles as well, but he’s always ready to stand by Sir’s side and provide aid as much as he’s capable of. It’s hard to achieve Jarvis’s commendation, but James accomplished that with his persistence. It’s an achievement especially given that he was a threat first.

“I’d die for him,” James once said to Colonel Rhodes with grim determination in his voice, as an explanation of his commitment toward Sir. “I’ve killed for him and I’m ready to do it again.”

“That’s easy,” the Colonel answered back then. “Anyone can do that. Are you ready to live for him? With him?”

James didn’t answer at the time.

He answers it now, months later, and not even to Colonel Rhodes, just to himself.

It’s the first night after the hardly won confessions, the first night Sir, James and Captain Rogers planned to spend together. To sleep together, no sexual activity included. Jarvis knows better than to offer the calculation he ran immediately that has shown a ninety-seven percent probability of at least one of them not sleeping at all.

They spend approximately fourteen minutes with settling on the king-sized bed, moving into various positions only to declare them _‘strange’_ , _‘uncomfortable’_ or _‘I feel like an octopus with too many limbs’_. (The last one from Sir, of course, who spends the whole procedure narrating the events.)

In the end, they manage to find tolerable positions. James is commanded to the middle, and he complies, laying still on his back, avoiding movements to his best. Captain Rogers is on James’s right, on his side, throwing an arm over James’s chest and reaching out to Sir, with his leg wrapped around James’s. Sir curls his whole body, hugging James’s metal arm tightly to his chest, while he buries his face in James’s neck and lets the Captain’s palm cup his shoulder.

The Captain falls asleep first, five-point-three minutes later. The way his breaths even out and get deeper helps to lull Sir to sleep as well: it takes only twelve-point-eight minutes, which is relatively fast unless Sir is passing out from exhaustion.

James stays awake, staring at the ceiling. He doesn’t seem to dare to move his arms, probably not willing to risk waking his partners up.

Two hours later he’s still staring upwards fully awake, despite both of his sleeping partners squirming around him occasionally. James adjusts his limbs each time to give them the prehensile they need but doesn’t do much else to make himself comfortable. “I think I understand now, Rhodes” he whispers almost inaudibly, and Jarvis has to adjust the sensibility of his sensors to make sure each word is picked up. “I’m gonna live for them,” he promises.

Jarvis considers this, then archives the confession to James’s personal file, then copies it to the Captain’s as well. He deliberately does not analyze the warmth he isn’t programmed to feel in his circuits.

***

“Jarvis, buddy, am I missing something or is there really a ton of unresolved sexual frustration left from the forties?” Colonel Rhodes asks at the end of his visit, after he got the chance to supervise a training session in the gym, during which Sir and Captain Rogers sparred while James instructed them from the sideline.

Colonel Rhodes had not been present during the ominous conversation, and it seemed no one had enlightened him about the situation.

Jarvis briefly explains it. Then spends the next ten minutes convincing the Colonel not to kill either Sir or Miss Potts for _‘not telling me first, what kind of friends are they, seriously, this is what I get for the trouble- ’_ and other varieties of the same threats. Jarvis doesn't take them seriously, and neither does Sir, given he's laughing in the background during the whole tirade.

***

Captain Rogers should be observed closely. Jarvis doesn’t want his creator to be disappointed and heartbroken in the end of the new relationship arrangement.

So far, Captain Rogers seemed like something pulp fiction refers to as ‘boyfriend material’.

He brought food to the workshop, petted the bots when they sought attention but left them alone when they didn’t initiate contact. Captain Rogers was able to stay still and quiet for long periods of time while Sir needed to focus on his work. He proved himself again and again to be a good listener and, essentially,  favorable company.

Getting Sargent Barnes back means immediate changes in his behavior. These changes can’t be categorized as negative, but it can’t be denied that James affects the Captain. He becomes more energetic and verbal. While his attitude was best described as melancholic before, now it’s closer to enthusiastic. He is still able to engage passive activities like sketching, and he still enjoys standing back and observing his surroundings, but he’s looking for each and every opportunity to burst into action.

This will cause problems, Jarvis is 100% sure.

Not to mention the mere fact that the good Captain formed symptoms of codependency, in the sense of the word he spends all his time in the companion of Sir and James. According to Jarvis's calculations, the minutes he spent without at least any of them within seeing and hearing distance are a two-digit number since the Battle of New York, and most of them were spent during the first emotionally challenging phase of their arrangement. Jarvis would approve to have a human professional's confirmation of his diagnosis, but after James's and Sir's protests, he knows better than to suggest a psychologist's help. Yet. Right now Captain Rogers is too focused on the newfound relationship for anything else to catch his attention, so the recommendation is postponed for an incalculable time until Jarvis deems absolutely necessary.

All in all, not many things change in the interactions between Sir and Captain Rogers. They've already been spending most of their time together before the Avengers were assembled. Having a physically more intimate relationship doesn’t mean they stop being the friends they already were. The physical contact they share gets more frequent, they let their focus become compromised by each other more freely. Their heartbeats and core temperatures rise more often, not once simply by looking at the other. Jarvis notes these symptoms down as the signs of ‘lovestruckness’, which seems like a terrible yet enjoyable mental state for human beings.

But what really changes is between James and the Captain.

James is either at his peak comfort level in the company of the Captain or at his worst, without any stages in between. Captain Rogers of course notices. Often he tries to give more space to James, figuring out the close proximity can be overwhelming, but the moment he stops paying special attention this effort disappears and the Captain’s need for closeness resurfaces. It's completely understandable, given he believed his best friend and partner was gone forever, but Jarvis quietly agrees with Sir when he assesses how lucky they all are the Captain wasn't here one or two years earlier, when James wouldn't have been ready to this kind of attention being focused on him.

At least the nervousness that accompanied James in every connection with the Captain is gone. He still can be worried, or cautious, but he doesn’t act as if threatened anymore. When James gets skittish or uncomfortable, the Captain becomes tense and agitated and this leads to Sir being concerned and uneasy.

Therefore Jarvis feels obliged to help them through this stage of their reunion. The difficulty of providing this help is to do it in ways they are able and ready to accept.

***

“The future is really not so bad after all,” Captain Rogers admits one night.

Sir is asleep, this time he is the one in the middle. James is pretending to be asleep. Jarvis doesn’t betray him, though he hums quietly.

“May I suggest you share these sentiments with your partners as well, Captain? It might do better than to give your thoughts merely to the night, despite the metaphysical implications of such actions,” Jarvis says.

The Captain laughs, in a way that only makes him breathe harder but allows him to remain void of sound. It’s not a genuinely happy gesture. And it makes Sir stir on his chest so he stops abruptly.

“You know, Jarvis, I won’t pretend I fully understood what you referred to, but I think you might be right,” he whispers. “I’m just not as good with words as you or your marvelous creator.”

“Well, you clearly think flattery will take you somewhere, Captain,” Jarvis teases in a way Sir prefers from him, and even in the darkness, the sensors get the smile it evokes – from both the Captain and James. Of course the latter remains Jarvis’s secret.

“Maybe,” Captain Rogers admits. “Or I just try to be nice to the disembodied voice who controls everything in the place I happen to live now.”

“Well, they don’t call you a tactical genius for nothing,” Jarvis remarks immediately, causing another mute laugh.

This time, though, Sir raises his head and pokes between the Captain’s ribs with a finger. “Don’t,” he slurs to the Captain’s whine. “Pillow not stir.” Then drops his head back and sinks back to sleep. No one says more.

Jarvis adds the first sentence to the personal file. It seems like Captain Rogers started on the path of fully accepting his place in the new century.

***

The new residents of the mansion were informed by Jarvis about his presence before they were presented with the option of their designated stay. Agent Barton tried to protest against the surveillance protocol, but Agent Romanoff stopped him from doing so.

Jarvis deducted Sir would wish to keep the guests satisfied during their stay, therefore he added taking care of them to his task list. This task, at this point, is a low priority.

The primary task is to serve Sir.

The secondary tasks are the commands given by Sir.

Everything else that Jarvis decides to do is an additional task. Those should never engage more than forty percent of capacity at any given time.

But no matter how professionally Jarvis assists them, having several different people at the same place with vastly different backgrounds, some of them clearly traumatized or having mental health difficulties, is a foolproof way to generate conflict. Jarvis is completely aware of this psychological fact – amongst nearly all other psychological facts currently acknowledged, thanks to his excessive presence in various scientific databases –, therefore he monitors the residents to be able to de-escalate emerging conflicts before someone loses their mind, sometimes literally so.

When Clint Barton tries to sneak up on James during shooting practice, Jarvis is immediately on high alert, and the only reason he’s not blasting the warning sirens is that he knows the extents of James’s abilities thanks to their training sessions. James’s physical readings show signs of alert but not distress. His movements and his breathing remain normal, even when he turns and points the gun toward the dead center of Agent Barton’s forehead.

Jarvis definitely doesn't warn the Agent that the training weapon is unsuitable to cause serious injuries.

The archer, weapon in hand, freezes. “Not many people are able to hear me, you know,” he says. _His_ heartbeat is elevated, but only slightly. His hearing aids are in place. Sir still hasn’t noticed the agent needs them and Jarvis does not see a reason to direct his attention there.

James meets the other’s eyes. “Not many people are able to get this close,” he admits as well.

But neither takes any steps back and the gun is still up. Jarvis weighs if he should notify the others. But at the moment Sir is too deep in his projects to actually percept anything about his surroundings, while Captain Rogers is in the city without his phone in the company of Agent Romanoff. Instead of disturbing them, Jarvis pings Miss Pott's phone who is spending her downtime nearby.

“So,” Agent Barton sighs, “Tasha talked a bit about you.”

James is holding the gun in his metal hand which means he’s able to steadily hold aiming position for at least one thousand and eight hundred minutes straight, and he appears to be ready to beat this record if necessary. He doesn’t even blink as he keeps his eyes on Barton’s.

“You were like her once.”

James tilts his head to the left side by thirty-seven degrees. His vitals are still signaling his calm is genuine. “You wanna ask if I really was a brainwashed assassin?”

Agent Barton’s laugh, Jarvis notices, is sounding at least thirty percent more hysterical than usual. “I’m pretty sure that’s me, not you.”

James lets the gun down and exhales. “I doubt that.”

Agent Barton shrugs. “Loki’s death count is over a hundred people, _without_ the battle. A good portion of that  is my handiwork.”

James partly turns away and avoids eye contact now, hunching his shoulder as a sign of discomfort. “You stopped,” he counters, a clear attempt to comfort the agent.

“No. I was stopped. That’s different.”

“At the end of the day, the results are the same, no matter the circumstances.”

Jarvis is as surprised as can be that this conversation is going better than he anticipated. It doesn't mean it isn't going to be derailed soon enough. He predicts it will take between three and nine more sentences before the situation turns dangerous.

“But you were able to break out on your own.” Agent Barton sounds exasperated and crosses his arms. “How did you do it?”

Jarvis miscalculated, a rare occurrence: it took only two sentences.

James’s physical readings get salient. He has never talked about this, not even with Sir. Jarvis decides to inform Captain Rogers as well, so he sends a text to Agent Romanoff’s phone informing them the Captain’s assistance would be welcomed. He adds to the end that James is in the company of Agent Barton, and he’s quite sure it will be enough for them to rush back.

Agent Barton is either a very bold or a very fatuous man. His self-preservation instincts are truly not marvelous, given how he’s stepping closer instead of backing off at the lack of response.

“I need to know. What did I do wrong, how could’ve—”

“No.” James averts his gaze from Barton's, staring past him to the far wall, his whole stand is rigid, his heartbeat is over a hundred and twenty per minutes, and his chest heaves with fervent breathing. “Mine was different. You didn’t… Natali—sha told us.” He takes a deep, shaky breath. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I should’ve fought it harder.”

James shakes his head between two deep breaths and he starts to get a hold of himself. His heartbeat is a hundred per minute and slows with each second.

“He was an alien. With magic. That’s…”

“All he needed was one touch.”

There's a pause, and Jarvis focuses on James's face with the cameras. He’s been scrutinizing James for twenty-three months now, has seen his lowest and highest points as well, and Jarvis knows him and his thought processes. He can recognize the moment James decides to switch from the strategy of comforting Agent Barton, as from his viewpoint the attempt is ineffective. His eyes dart toward the doors but not in a way that signals he's looking for an exit to bolt, rather as an indicator that he's thinking about someone currently not present. Probably Agent Romanoff, who is known to spend the most time with Agent Barton, attempting to console him. Yet he is here seeking help from James. It is a logical assumption that he's not after comforting phrases.

Jarvis is unable to predict James's next move. He witnesses the way James’s jaw clenches and the way the muscles in his shoulder and back tense up more - a clear indicator of discomfort and distress. James may be relaxed around a few trusted individuals, but Agent Barton doesn't fall into that category. Their experiences with brainwashing being so similar most certainly don't help James to be at ease, either, even if that's the reason which made the agent come after him.

Jarvis pings Miss Pott's phone again as he sees James bracing himself physically. No matter what is it he plans to do, James isn't comfortable.

There are a broad variety of things James isn't comfortable with.

Jarvis's not convinced his insight would be welcomed if he'd talk right now, so he remains silent and decides to wait until his intervention becomes inevitable.

James’s expression hardens, shows anger. This contradicts the fact his vitals are almost completely back to normal levels; other than his facial expression, he doesn't show any sign of heated emotions. Jarvis combines this piece of data with the fact that James rarely lets his emotions to be seen, and even when he does, anger is exclusively aimed toward malevolent individuals or himself and Jarvis draws the only logical conclusion: the anger is faked and is on display for a good reason.

“Are you going anywhere with this, or did you plan to just whine to me all day?” James asks in a tone deeper and harsher than he normally prefers to use.

Jarvis would like to ask James what he expects to gain by making Agent Barton angry, just to verify he knows what is he doing, but that would ruin James’s act. All of the sensors are at maximum receptivity and Jarvis is ready to use everything in his capacity to stop them from doing something undesirable.

“I just wanted some advice or—” Agent Barton steps closer like he can’t understand the signs indicating that’s not a wise move. He’s within reach by now. James is too proud to back away from him, just straightens his spine even more.

The metal plates of his arm recalibrate themselves with a soft whirring noise, and the forming pattern shows a defensive neural process.

James’s heartrate: seventy per minute. Not completely calm, but not in any way dangerous zone. Yet when he snaps at the agent, the vile in his voice is quite convincing.

“I’m not your babysitter. Act like the fucking adult you are and deal with your shit,” he raises his voice. “It’s shit. It happened. You can’t change it. Go on or eat a bullet. Whining is not a solution.” He twirls the gun in his hand, grabs the barrel and offers the weapon to Agent Barton. “Get over with it fast if you’re this much of a coward.”

Reverse psychology. Since comforting didn’t work, it seems James took a 180-degree turn and decided to advocate for the behavior that is opposite to the one desired. A technique relying on the phenomenon of reactance. Some people have a negative emotional reaction to being persuaded, therefore they choose the option which is being advocated against. A method working best with stubborn and/or independent people, which Agent Barton most certainly is. It is, in fact, a kind of manipulation sometimes used even in psychotherapy, but it’s mostly out of fashion nowadays.

A technique not without risks, but it seems James decided the possible gain outweighs the possible harm. Given that they are in the shooting range, and the offered weapon has specially designed blank cartridge which is unsuitable for long-term harm even if used close, a remnant from the times Sir was worried about James's tendency to punish himself with physical harm, Jarvis again decides not to interfere. Even if James’s idea backfires, Agent Barton is not in genuine danger.

Agent Barton probably still isn’t aware of this fact.

He stares and doesn’t move to grab the gun. “And what if I ask you to do it for me?” he challenges.

James barks out a harsh, unhappy laugh. “Then you’re out of luck, pal. This is none of my business. But even if it were, I’m not doing that anymore, and if I were doing that, I’m certainly not crazy enough to get Nat’s wrath on my head just because you have a problem.”

They don’t meet each other’s eyes.

“You accuse me of being a coward,” the agent murmurs, “but doing this, getting out the easy way would be the real cowardice.”

James shrugs with his right shoulder and hums nonchalantly. Jarvis realizes James barely holds back a smile, but it’s not in his nature to give up his act halfway through. He is much like Sir and the Captain in that regard.

“You didn’t do it after you came in from the cold,” Barton continues. “Neither did Natasha.”

“I guess we had our reasons.”

“What was yours?”

“Take a wild stab in the dark. I heard and saw you during the battle, you are good with that,” James says, and this time he actually smiles, his expression open and warm for the first time since the agent cornered him here.

Agent Barton probably senses it, too, because he chooses this moment to look up. For a second he seems surprised, then his eyes widen even more. “Oh, fuck. You are so full of shit, Barnes!”

“Well, it worked!” James raises his hands, palms out, the metal fingers still holding the gun.

“That doesn’t excuse you manipulating people!”

“Honestly, I’m an amateur in the manipulation business compared to you or _your_ _partner_.” James grins. “You aren’t angry at me, you hate the fact that you fell for this.”

“What would have you done if I’d grabbed the gun, honestly?”

“I knew you wouldn’t,” James seems completely serious now. “Natasha selects her friends more carefully than that. You wouldn’t be the most important person to her if you wouldn’t be a fighter.”

“Well. They never accuse me of being smart, but everyone knows I’m a plucky bastard,” Agent Barton actually giggles a bit.

“Fair warning, Barton. I’m not above of using behavioral correction tools if you relapse, so you better ask Jarvis or Nat to help you deal with this, or I’ll have to step up. None of us would be happy with that.”

It is the perfect time for Jarvis to speak up as well. “I’m always happy to provide any help, Agent Barton,” he says. He also sends a text to Miss Potts and Agent Romanoff, informing them that everything is under control, though according to their GPS locations, they’re on their way back.

James is not surprised, but the archer is not as accommodated to an AI’s presence in his life, so he winces. “Oh, okay. Good to know,” he says, then raises an eyebrow at James. “But actually, this lump here made me curious about his methods now.”

James sighs. “Let’s shoot something instead, shall we? I’ve seen what you’re capable of with that fancy bow. What do you say to a friendly competition? Old-school versus new tech?”

Agent Barton is grinning. “Only if you don't use Stark’s aiming tech, that’s cheating, man.”

James copies his expression. “Deal.”

***

They don’t have much time, though: by the second round of their shooting practice, Miss Potts’s high heels on the tile floor signal her arrival. Jarvis sends an alert to Sir about her presence, as he was instructed earlier to do so, and is satisfied when, upon receiving it, Sir abandons his current project for the sake of seeing her.

She is far from amused by the peaceful competition.

“James, Jarvis,” she starts with cautionary calm. “Explain yourselves, please.”

James lets down his weapon, alarmed by the tone, and goes as far as to put it down onto the floor when it becomes obvious Miss Potts won’t leave soon, then he looks up to the ceiling with a questioning glance. Agent Barton studies the situation with open curiosity.

“My apologies, Miss Potts,” Jarvis speaks up. “It’s certainly my mistake. There was a miscalculation.”

“I was having a good time,” Miss Potts starts with a raised voice. “And you drag me out of that, it seems like you’re in an emergency, and when I get here, everything is fine! This is something I expect from Tony, not from you, and yet you still keep doing this to me!”

James doesn’t answer, and he seems like he wants to disappear completely from the sight of Miss Potts.  Lucky for him, Sir arrives at his rescue.

“Did someone mention me?” Sir cheerfully asks, hair and clothes disheveled from the work he has been doing, a patch of oil smeared on his left cheek. Jarvis notes that the little maniac glint in his eyes means he recently had a breakthrough in some thought process. “Pepper, dearest.” Sir moves toward the woman, who backs away hastily.

“Stop, right there!” she warns. “I don’t have a change of clothes with me, and I really don’t want oil right now. Save it for Dummy, he needs it more anyway.”

Sir pouts. “You are no fun. But I have a gift for you anyway!” he announces, and throws his arms in the air with a triumphant yell.

Agent Barton steps closer to James and speaks without moving his lips much. “Are they always like this?” he whispers.

Miss Potts shakes her head. “Not now, Tony. I have an appointment, and I’m already late.”

“Usually yes,” James mutters back, not taking his eyes off of the scene.

At the same time, Agent Romanoff and Captain Rogers have their own short-lived conversation in the hall, right after stepping inside and the Captain tossing the bags to the floor in his haste.

She grabs his arm, trying to hold him back. “Jarvis told us everything is under control,” she warns.

“I don’t care,” the Captain glares at her and frees himself, and practically sprints toward the shooting range. Jarvis calculates it’s only 45% of his eagerness to help, and the other 55% is the worry and lingering guilt in connection with the former Sergeant Barnes. Jarvis takes a note, adding this aspect of the Captain’s behavior to the ones that might cause troubles in the future and warns Sir of the incoming teammates.

“It’s fine, Jarvis,” Sir brushes off the concerns and focuses on Miss Potts instead.“Come on, you’ll love it, I promise. It will be better than Louboutin shoes.”

Miss Potts’s mouth twitches, probably a sign of satisfaction as Sir remembered her favorite brand correctly. People, even people who are familiar with Sir, often accuse him of not paying enough attention to the details. Which is sometimes true, but often not, and yet they tend to be surprised each time.

Of course, humans don’t have perfect memory storage like Jarvis has.

“I’d love to, Tony, but—”

“What, whatever you’re doing can wait a few minutes—” Sir tries to interject.

“—I have a date.”

“—nothing can be as good as – wait, what?” Sir’s eyes widen in clear indication of shock.

In the silence following the announcement, Agent Barton’s whisper is clearly audible. “I should have brought popcorn.”

James pokes the agent’s side with his elbow, but Sir and Miss Potts are too busy staring at each other to pay attention to their audience.

Plus Captain Rogers and Agent Romanoff also rush into the conversation, quite literally: she plasters her palm on her side, given the Captain have been running at full speed therefore giving a hard time for the Agent not to fall behind.

“Bucky!” he shouts. “Are you okay?”

Agent Romanoff and James roll their eyes.

“Mother hen,” she mutters while stroding over to Agent Barton’s side.

“Do I look otherwise?” James puts his hands on his hips, but Jarvis can tell he’s actually grateful for the distraction.

Sir and Miss Potts are still not paying attention to anyone but each other.

“I have a date,” Miss Potts repeats and raises her chin with a defiant gesture. “We’ve been dating for four months by now.”

Sir unhurriedly puts his hands in his pocket and waggles on his feet back and forth twice. Jarvis is sure Miss Potts doesn’t even breathe during it, and worry starts to draw groves on her face, but she braces herself.

“I don’t need your approval,” she adds sternly. “Or anyones. I’m a grown-up woman, I can do whatever I want and can date whoever I please and…”

Captain Rogers and Agent Romanoff clearly try to simply understand the situation, while Agent Barton follows the events like a sports match’s live stream, and James doesn’t move as if waiting for some kind of judgment from the others that would guide him how to react accordingly.

Sir starts to smile. Starts it as a small, genuine gesture, but it grows and forms until all of Sir’s face is lit up with pure, unaltered joy and he laughs, and it’s not tinted by sadness or moderation at all.

The tension disappears completely from the room. James leans on to Captain Rogers, who opens his arms willingly to give him an embrace (Jarvis takes a note as this is the closest proximity they have been in so far while awake), the Agents hold hands, while Miss Potts relaxes her pose. Sir pulls Miss Potts closer, initiating a hug, and she doesn’t protest this time despite the oil on Sir.

“I knew it!” Sir says, pleased.

“I assume you don’t mind it, then,” she observes.

“Oh! That hurts. You know me like that?” He gesticulates wildly only with his free hand, the other still around her hip, squeezing her a bit. “As long as you’re happy, I’m happy. Do I know him? I’d be surprised if not. Well, invite him here, we’ll finish by the time he arrives and who knows, maybe you’ll want to show him your gift anyway.”

James shudders at the words, and shakes his head, alarmed, but doesn’t speak up. He does, however, glances at Agent Barton, indicating it’s the archer’s presence that stops him from open communication. Agent Romanoff meets his gaze and shakes her head, a sign Jarvis can’t interpret, while Captain Rogers does his best to comfort James.

“Slow down, Tony,” Miss Potts raises a hand, nervous again. “First of all. Not him.”

James twitches. Sir stares. “What do you…”

“Harold, they are lesbians,” Agent Barton mutters under his breath almost inaudibly, and Agent Romanoff snorts. Jarvis is probably the only one who hears except her, though super soldier hearing leaves room for mistakes in calculations.

Miss Potts sighs.

“Oh!” Realization hits hard, but instead of being upset, like she understandably but unjustly is worried, it just makes Sir smile even more. “Pepper, that’s wonderful! Welcome to the club of immoral decadents!”

“Sir!” Jarvis warns. “This is most certainly not the right time neither the right topic you should joke about.”

“Chill out, Jay, I can damn well crack a joke at my own expense,” Sir brushes off any concern, then his focus snaps back to Miss Potts.“Why didn’t you tell it earlier?! Okay, nevermind, that’s a stupid question. Anyway, invite her, then. Do I know her? Wait! Oh my God, please tell me I never had an affair with her!”

“Sadly, I can’t do that, I must not tell lies. To friends, anyway.”

Even James looks alarmed by this, his gaze sliding to Sir from Miss Potts, then to Captain Rogers, who just shrugs, probably a bit lost in the situation as well.

“Fuck,” Sir emphasizes, then takes a deep breath. “Okay, well, don’t spare me. Who is she?”

Miss Potts fishes her phone from her purse. “I’ll ask if she wants to come over. And you can show me that mysterious gift in the meantime.”

***

Ignoring Agent Barton’s light protesting, Agent Romanoff drags him away from the quartet toward the kitchen.

“Seriously, I go out shopping for _one hour_ , leaving you to socialize, and _of course_ you decide the best way to spend your afternoon is by harassing a recovering assassin? I swear, Clint…” Her scolding becomes inaudible as soon as they close the door behind themselves.   

The four of them head to the workshop, Sir still hugging Miss Potts to his side while James and Captain Rogers walk in rehearsed camaraderie.

Once inside the workshop, Sir practically runs to one of the hologram projecting stations while the Captain and James stop next to Miss Potts.

“Should we leave you alone?” James whispers.

“You can stay if you want,” she smiles at him, equally quietly.

The pair takes a step back nonetheless, giving space to Sir and Miss Potts, but not excluding themselves from the company by remaining within reaching distance.

Sir doesn’t pay them any attention at the moment. “Jarvis, you up?”

“Always, Sir,” he answers. It’s obvious. Even asking is superfluous. But Jarvis doesn’t mind. He shouldn’t have feelings, yet he enjoys these little displayed scenes for their audience just as much as Sir does.

“Okay, they are ready, I think, so just as we agreed.”

Based on the location Sir is standing, it’s a logical assumption that everyone expects a hologram to emerge. Instead of a hologram, Jarvis activates the suit under the floor, slides the trap door open and makes the suit ascend to ground level while there are little fireworks on display around it.

The Mark Fourteen is different from all the other suits. For one, it has way less firepower built into it, which makes it slimmer, even more elegant than the usual Iron Man armors. Two, it isn’t painted yet, no red or gold visible, the whole suit is sleek, shiny metal that reflects the light. The ARC-reactor and the eyelets bathe the workshop in soft yellow light instead of blue. The faceplate has a slightly different shape than the others, and the chestplates are angled differently with more place underneath, allowing a female pilot to be comfortable in the suit, but not drawing any particular awareness to its feminine nature. Jarvis lifts the suit’s arm and makes it spin a pirouette in the air, showing off its easy maneuverability. The workshop is not suitable for speed presentation, so he can’t prove the Fourteen is the fastest model so far.

Miss Potts sighs. “Very nice, Tony,” she says. “And you know I appreciate you being Iron Man and saving the world on a daily basis, but maybe your new toy could’ve waited for another time.”

Sir’s lips tremble as the smile disappears from his face.

“I’m afraid you misunderstood us, Miss Potts,” Jarvis speaks up. “This, if you accept, is Sir’s gift for _you_ and not for himself.”

She freezes. James puts his right hand on her back, to the spot between the shoulder blades, massaging circles with his thumb with a fully outstretched arm. Captain Rogers watches the scene like he’s the epitome of the stoic observer, but his readings betray his excitement seeing the futuristic technology. Sir doesn’t dare to be hopeful just yet.

“You…? You mean— you designed? This is a suit, a real Iron Man suit, functional, with the repulsor and reactor tech, for me?” Miss Potts stutters, not finding her usual calm this once.

Jarvis is very much aware how unexpected this is. Miss Potts’s face remains blank for seconds before realization and understanding start to color her expression in a rapidly changing way. From shock to confusion, then curiosity, and finally: joy. But she masks it soon with caution.

“I wasn’t even involved in the attack this time,” she says.

Sir fiddles with a wrench, wiping it with his shirt methodically, not looking up, therefore unaware of the Captain holding out his hand for him, inviting him to join their unit connected through touch. “Yeah, well, believe me, that’s something I’m really grateful for, but you’re a CEO and you hang out with superheroes and there are always rumors about us in the press and I figured, it would be safer. I mean, now that the remote mounting is tested and flawless, you wouldn’t even need to keep the suit nearby and yet you’d be ready for all kind of emergencies. It’s not exactly like my armor, not—“

While Sir is talking, James lets go of Miss Potts, who takes slow steps toward the armor and lets the awe ruling over her facial expression. Captain Rogers stays in place while James marches  to Sir, and his fingers on Sir’s shoulder are making him shudder and fall silent. He looks up, finally, and realizes he didn’t even notice anyone’s movements, despite the sounds of heels on the floor. “Don’t be nervous,” James whispers, which only results in even more nervousness, and Sir looks like he’s about to throw up by the sheer amount of his anxiety. James hugs him from behind, presses his chest to Sir’s back, one arm on his waist and the other crossing in front of his collarbones, like James’s ready to shove him away from any danger.

The Captain looks away, pain clearly visible on his features.

Miss Potts touches the armor. With only her index finger first, but then she rests her palm on the waist, which is at her shoulders’ height at the moment, then her other hand mirrors the movement as well, like she’s about to hug the suit, and looks up to the glowing reactor. Jarvis lets it land gently, barely making a sound with it. The armor is a few inches taller than her.

“You made me high heels?” Her voice is rough by the suppressed emotions as she tries to even out her breaths.

“Yeah, no... not really? I mean, there's space for them, because you usually wear heels and in an emergency, you won't have time to take them off, so there's place, but the sole can slide and make it flat if you're like barefoot or anything. I can replace the whole thing if you don't want, we just figured with Jarvis you'd appreciate this detail, but it's really not necessary if you give me five minutes I can—”

“Tony,” she cuts in, “I can’t express how much _I love it.”_ She smiles so wildly like she wants to burst into giggles and laughs but doesn’t let herself and she turns toward the pair, eyes shining. She notices Captain Rogers in the background and scowls at him.

“Steve, don’t ruin my moment, go and hug them so we all can be happy for one damn minute,” she instructs sternly, and he sheepishly obeys, stepping closer to Sir and James and hesitantly put a hand to their shoulders.

Jarvis moves the suit, and the armor mimics James’s movements, embracing Miss Potts from behind. She leans into the connection without any hesitation.

“You… really like it?” Sir’s insecurity and disbelief sweep into his voice.

“Can I try it right now?”

“Sure, of course, I’ll guide through the basics. Wanna fly alone for the first time, or want company?” Sir is just as eager to a test flight as her, Jarvis can tell, even though he tries to hide it.

“Wait,” James says and licks his lip when everyone looks at him. “Your date is coming,” he warns Miss Potts.

She waves him off. “I’ll make her promise not to write about it. I’d be glad if you’d come with me, Tony.”

Captain Rogers turns to James, _‘Write?’_ he mouths in confusion. James shakes his head, but his facial expression shows concern as well.

Not needing more encouragement, Sir stretches out his arms and James steps away, pulling Captain Rogers with him, since the Mark Eleven is turning up from its place to assemble itself around Sir. At the same time Jarvis opens up the Fourteen and embraces Miss Potts with the metal, making sure for the experience to be gentle and slow at first, and all the while he’s opening up the rooftop, making way to their flight. He projects the basic instructions in front of her, while Sir enthusiastically explains some finer details, jumping from one topic to the other.

Jarvis makes sure both of them are as safe as possible, even though he can’t stop Sir from showing off his piloting expertise (which he has, of course, but such evasive actions are really not necessary without any pursuers), or Miss Potts from trying to copy them and then feel sick. “It takes a certain amount of practice for the human body to get used to the strain that comes with using the armor,” Jarvis reassures her. “I advise against trying out the whole range of possibilities on the first try.”

Together with Sir Jarvis explains the differences this suit has from the others: the less weaponry is obvious, since it’s not designed for assault but for safety, and therefore it is faster, stealthier, and more maneuverable. It’s a suit to hide, to evade, to surprise others. That’s why it lacks the paint as well: the metal plates are equipped with the invisibility mode, the same technology that was granted to the helicarriers. Only slightly upgraded, of course, since it’s Sir who designed the suit.

By the end of the flight, she relaxes enough that  her joy shows, shouting with excitement and screaming when Jarvis allows her to drop a few hundred feet in freefall.

“So you won’t let anything happen to me?” Miss Potts asks Jarvis, shutting Sir out of their conversation.

“I have very specific instructions about the ways I’m supposed to keep you safe while you’re in the suit, Miss Potts,” he answers, not elaborating further. “When you have the necessary practice, the suit will be upgraded with its own AI, just like the War Machine armor has its own separate system.”

“Since how long has he been working on this suit for me?”

“A while.”

“Jarvis. Since when?”

Jarvis considers his options and decides to be straightforward with her. “The first blueprints were made after the incident with Mr. Stane. Sir needed time to perfect the theoretical technology for usable models.”

The stunned silence tells everything Jarvis needs to know. They don’t talk more until the end of the flight.

***

Jarvis was designed to be able multitasking. Which is useful in times like this, when on top of his twenty-seven different background protocols up and running, he simultaneously helps two Iron Man armors mid-flight, stops Agent Barton from burning down the mansion by warning him about the oil that is about to catch on fire, monitors the front entrance and the guest coming through it for weapons or possible threats, warns Dr. Yinsen about the incoming stranger, assists Dr. Banner during an experiment, commands Dummy back to its charging station, turns the heating on in the Captain’s room to reach optimal temperature by the time he will most likely return. Plus he witnesses James and Captain Rogers have a quiet argument while sitting on the workshop’s couch two feet apart from each other. Jarvis interrupts it with the news of Miss Pott’s date having arrived.

James is on his feet the next moment, and he slips away from the workshop, knife in hand, barely looking back at the Captain. Jarvis doesn’t blame him, not really, but he isn’t impressed either and he voices it, only to be ignored, as usual. He keeps an eye on the ex-assassin, in case of a relapse, which is highly unlikely but never excluded. Captain Rogers looks around, sighs and gets up to leave the workshop as well.

Jarvis is able to identify the guest and if he were programmed to have feelings, those feelings would not be pleasure by the discovery. At least the lady has the decency to wait in the living room until Sir and Miss Potts arrive to greet her.

“Tony, though you know each other, let me introduce Christine Everhart, my girlfriend,” Miss Potts says.

Jarvis takes pictures of Sir’s slightly horrid and completely shocked expression. Not like Jarvis needs blackmail material, but Colonel Rhodes will be delighted to see it.

“You?” Sir asks.

“Sorry to disappoint, Mr. Stark,” Miss Everhart answers drily.

“I know it’s awkward,” Miss Potts admits. She’s nervous – her vitals are going haywire as she speaks.

“That’s one hell of an understatement,” Sir says.

“But, well, I really enjoyed that Vanity Fair interview and asked for a coffee sometimes, and Christine agreed and we didn’t actually plan anything ahead, we just clicked really well and—”

“Pepper,” Tony cuts in. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” He gives a quizzical look to Miss Everhart, then turns back. “I mean, technically, you’re my boss and not the other way around, right?” And he smiles with a fake joy that seems real to careless eyes which Jarvis – and certainly Miss Potts too – knows better than to be fooled by.

“Give us a minute,” Miss Potts smiles at Miss Everhart, and when she squeezes her hand, it lasts a few heartbeats longer than her average handshakes do. “Take a seat, I’ll be back, just a second.”

Sir keeps smiling even when they’re alone. “Well, ain’t that a surprise.”

She sighs. “What is the problem exactly here, in your opinion?”

“Well, since you’re asking this nicely,” Sir chews on the words and starts to gesticulate wildly, especially compared to his earlier, more controlled behavior. “Pepper, I always tried to support you, but this is betrayal! You are literally sleeping with the enemy right here!” It’s hard to tell even to Jarvis if the overdramatic tone is for easing the tension or for showing genuine worry. “No offense, but she’s a _journalist_! This is just not compatible with a CEO! Hook-ups are one thing but a relationship?” Sir finishes the tirade with both hands plastered on his chest.

And by this time, he’s on the edge of a panic attack.

Good thing Jarvis alerted Captain Rogers and he’s on his way.

Jarvis usually holds himself back from interfering personal conversations, but this time he considers it necessary. “Sir, my research shows that Miss Everhart hasn’t published anything in connection with Miss Potts, you, or Stark Industries since the aforementioned Vanity Fair interview for the Women in Power special issue, which was released almost a year ago.”

It calms Sir, if only marginally.

“Tony, she’s not with me for information or whatever you’re thinking about this.”

When Captain Rogers shows up, he marches directly to Sir, ignoring Miss Potts, and wraps him in a hug without a word, just like Jarvis advised him, which makes the AI feel that unprogrammed warmth again.

“Pepper, please, I just… I know you, you take this seriously and how could this end well, she’ll just hurt you,” Sir clutches to the embrace with trembling hands while mumbling. “It’s not a risk worth taking.”

Her face hardens. “Anthony Edward Stark, you were literally carrying a nuclear missile on your back a few days ago, don’t you _dare_ to give me a lecture about _risks_.”

“That’s different!”

“You are sleeping with two centenarian war veterans! No offense, Captain,” she adds quickly.

“None taken, Ma’am.”

Sir hunches his shoulders as if he’s defeated. “I don’t want you to get hurt. I can’t…”

“Tony,” Captain Rogers whispers in his ears, tightening his hold. “This isn’t about you. You have to let others be brave, no matter how hard it can be.” He looks up at Miss Potts. “If Pepper’s happy, then it is our duty to be happy for her as well, right?”

She gives a perplexed look to the Captain like she tries to figure out if she should say anything to this. She turns to Sir instead.

“You designed a suit of armor to keep me safe physically, and I appreciate the effort, but this is my decision to make,” she says. “Believe it or not, I’m a responsible adult, and I’m well aware of each and every risk. And yet I still trust Christine by now, so please, trust me on this.”

“Does she _really_ make you happy?”

“Absolutely,” she answers without hesitation. Sir lets out a relieved breath. “And anyway, Natasha approved her as well, so you really can relax.”

“ _WHAT_ ,” Sir’s voice can only be described as a scream, Captain Rogers steps away shaking his head, and Jarvis immediately informs James that Sir’s unharmed, just surprised, so James really doesn’t need to _punch a hole through the ceiling_ and save Sir from a nonexistent threat, _thank you for keeping the mansion intact_ . Better safe than sorry, as humans say. “You’ve told Miss Red Death Spy Lady before me, _now_ I’m truly _hurt_ , this is blasphemy!”

***

Sir is working on his tablet, lying on the bed and humming the lyrics along with his headphones – a new habit he picked up to prevent disturbing Captain Rogers from blasting metal and rock songs. The aforementioned Captain is sitting on the edge of the bed, halfway turning toward him, sketchpad in his lap and pencil in his hand, eraser pieces covering the blanket around him as he tries to achieve perfection with his drawing. James is simply sitting cross-legged on the floor, his back supported by the bed’s headboard, and he stares out of the window motionless, but in a relaxed pose, enjoying the sunbeams through the bulletproof glass. The lazy atmosphere may seem like a Sunday morning in any usual household, but it’s in fact a Tuesday afternoon, and Jarvis appreciates how much at ease Sir is in this company.

That is, until Captain Rogers swishes the pencil out of his fingers when grabbing the eraser again, and it rolls under the bed. He falls to his knees to fish it out from the darkness, then promptly freezes. “Uhm,” he says, and looks at the others.

Jarvis warns Sir through a text post and he looks up to Steve, taking out the headphone. The tiny voice of Brian Johnson fills the air. “Yeah?”

“Why is there three backpack and some boxes under the bed?” the Captain asks.

James’s relaxed pose is gone in a heartbeat as he’s pulling himself smaller, hunches his shoulders and slouches his head in a vain attempt of trying to hide from sight.

Sir lifts his head. “Three?” He slowly stumbles out of the bed and looks under it as well. “Oh, nice. Now you’re included in his runaway scenarios.” He sits back. “Be proud, Capsicle.”

“I don’t understand,” the Captain says and looks at James, or at least he tries since the headboard blocks the sight. “What runaway scenarios?”

James still doesn’t answer, just continues his attempt to turn invisible.

“See, your boy is a bit of paranoid nowadays,” Sir explains instead. “So the backpacks contain everything we might need, should we disappear in a hurry. James picked the contents and put it together with his own bare hands. Last time there were only two, though, so. It’s official. You are allowed to run away with us if the need arises.”

“Not _my boy,_ ” Steve corrects softly.

James sticks to the floor now, almost at his stomach. Jarvis clears his throat to signal, at least to Sir, James’s discomfort.

“Pardon me?” Sir asks with raised brows and disbelief in his tone, gaping at the supersoldier in sight.

“At best _ours_ , Tony,” the Captain says. “We’re all each other’s if I didn’t misunderstand something.”

James marginally breathes easier.

Sir ducks his head to hide his blush. “Yeah, okay, _ours,_ then,” he corrects. The obvious question remains unspoken, but the Captain understands anyway.

“You are ours as well,” he says, voice soft. “Right, Buck?”

James doesn’t answer, but his heartrate is almost normal by now. Sir and Captain Rogers move towards him at the same time, then, upon seeing each other doing so, stop in unison, still out of sight.

“You okay down there, soldier boy?” Sir asks.

James nods. Jarvis vocalizes the gesture to inform them.

“Can we go there?” the Captain tries.

James shakes his head.

Captain Rogers seems pained by the answer, his arm already stretched toward him halfway, stopped mid-motion. Sir nods. “Okay,” he accepts. “We’ll be here on the bed if you change your mind.”

They indeed sit back, but Captain Rogers immediately decides otherwise. He lays down on his stomach, resting his chin on his hands, and grins down to James.

“What’s in the boxes?” he whispers.

James considers the answer for a few moments. “Food,” he says finally.

The Captain raises an eyebrow. “Can I eat it?”

Headshake. “That’s for if something happens.” He doesn’t elaborate what the _‘something’_ could possibly mean that would stop them from entering the kitchen a floor below, and they don’t talk more.

Staring at James calms the Captain while simultaneously makes James anxious, but not in a dangerous way, and he doesn’t protest, so Jarvis remains mute as well.

***

When Mrs. Riley arrives with her son, she is both charming and charmed.

She’s an elderly lady in her sixties, but she’s standing straight like her spine is made of steel, her hair is streamed with silver locks but mostly still black, fitting to the color of her dark skin.

Jarvis knows from the soldier’s file that Airman First Class Riley has been adopted by an interracial pair, and was raised with their two own and other two adopted children. His father deceased right before the Airman entered the military service.

“Ruth!” Captain Rogers greets and has to actually drop to his knee to be able to properly hug her. He’s the only one who stands at the door waiting for them, though James is watching over the scene from above, hidden from sight, naturally.

“Steven, dear boy!” she returns the gesture, squeezing him with all her force. “I’m glad you are unharmed! I’ve seen you and my son in the television, it was terrible, don’t you dare to do this to an old lady’s heart again!”

The mentioned soldier is standing next to his mother, and his facial expression suggests he isn’t comfortable with the situation. “Mom!” Airman First Class Riley sighs. “Please, just don’t embarrass me!”

“I’m your mother, young man, I raised you, I can do whatever I want! It’s my motherly duty to embarrass you in front of your girls and friends alike!”

“Great,” the soldier sighs again. “This is just fu—fantastic.”

Ruth slaps his cheek gently. “Language!”

Captain Rogers laughs. “Let me show you around. This is Tony’s home, where we are all invited, Riley as well,” he glances over to the other man, “but he’s been refusing it.”

“As he should! We’re in no need of rich white man’s mercy, we can do on our own just well!”

“Mom, that’s not like—“

“If he wants to support someone, your friend Tony should give the money he would spend on my Dominic to a school, that’s a better way.”

“Glad I’m not the only one who thought of that,” Sir arrives at the scene and nods gracefully. “You must be Mrs. Riley if I’m not mistaken? My pleasure,” he says and kisses her hand. “Yes, I actually have a foundation that searches for schools in financial need and provides all kind of help to them, targeting institutes especially if they are dealing with marginalized or segregated minorities. But my offer wasn’t about mercy or paying your son’s rent.”

“Mom, this is Tony Stark,” Airman First Class Riley adds, though introducing a famous billionaire is clearly not needed.

She steps forward and pats Sir on his cheeks. “Well done, son. I hope you keep an eye on that foundation and don’t let them steal a penny from the kids.”

Sir seems struck and he blushes, and he’s probably unaware of the movement as he touches the spot the women patted him on. As it settles in, he beams a proud smile. “I’m doing my best.”

Mrs. Riley nods in acceptance. “That’s all anyone can expect from you.”

Sir doesn’t know how to react to this, and Captain Rogers steps up to draw the attention from him. “So, the tour. I not so secretly hope that you’ll help me convince Riley to stay here after you see this place.”

Dr. Banner shows up at the door of the living room. “Tony, where have you been? It’s almost time to— oh, uhm, hello,” he waves to the guests and takes his glasses off to rub the lenses with his sweater methodically. “I didn’t… wasn’t aware we have, I mean, if you’re busy, that’s okay, but this is a very sensitive part of the testing…” he trails off, watching the floor.

Sir turns to Captain Rogers and the newcomers. “I’d gladly stay more, but the good doctor here is right, we’re actually in the middle of a project, and it seems I’m needed. But you’re in capable hands,” he winks. “Take care of them, Steve.” Sir kisses the Captain on his cheek, then hurries toward Dr. Banner, grabs him by the arm and they head back to the laboratory.

The conversation continues like the interruption didn’t happen at all.

“Well, being an Avenger certainly sounds like a tempting offer,” Airman First Class Riley grumbles. “But totally out of the question, now more than ever.”

Mrs. Riley looks at her son. “You haven’t told them yet? Go ahead, then.”

Captain Rogers looks at them with open curiosity.

“I’m leaving the service,” Airman First Class Riley admits quietly. “I asked for my retirement.” Mrs. Riley holds his hand in reassurance through the confession, and he doesn’t look anyone in the eye.

Captain Roger’s smile doesn’t falter. “I didn’t realize I was this much of a disappointment in real life.” When the soldier’s head whips up, the Captain raises a hand apologetically. “Ruth told me you joined the army in the first place because you found Captain America’s story inspiring.”

“Mom!” Airman First Class Riley squeaks, mortified. “No, it’s not… it’s not about you. Or because of you. I swear!”

“You don’t have to explain, you know?” the Captain smiles, a bit taken back by the reaction. “I don’t judge. I wish we could live in a world where no army is needed and no man should join in, but, well. I’m not an idealist, not anymore,” he shrugs. “You served your country well and you have every right to decide if it was enough.”

The airman looks like he’s close to tears, yet he laughs. “Damn, Captain, you surprise me all the time. I… thought you’d be disappointed.”

Captain Rogers only shrugs, while Mrs. Riley scolds her son. “I told you he won’t judge!”

“Mom, please, don’t remind me to the fact that you have the kind of relationship with _Captain America_ that allows you to livestream _gardening_ to him,” Airman First Class Riley answers while making a disgusted face, but he sobers up, returning to the original topic.

“But, that whole, alien thing, that changed everything, if you know what I mean?” the soldier continues quietly. “There are aliens out there, and they attacked us. After this, I just don’t feel I’m able to fight with humans anymore. War became even more pointless. Maybe I just need a break,” he finishes with a sigh. “But right now… I feel like it was enough for a lifetime.”

“We still don’t know if the Army lets him go, though,” Mrs. Riley adds quietly.

“The special training cost a fortune,” Airman First Class Riley shrugs again. “Of course they try to convince me not to let it be wasted.”

“Is it possible that they could deny your request?” Captain Rogers asks alarmed.

“It’s the Army, man.”

The Captain’s eyes slid to Mrs. Riley, expecting her to say something. It’s not without reason to request a high-ranking military officer’s help in cases like this, asking him to say some words in their favor, to help to move the bureaucracy forward more smoothly, to have a talk with a General or two… but the woman remains silent, only shakes her head and straightens herself even more.

The Captain nods nonetheless. “I’m sure it will be okay,” he says sternly. “Now, want to meet some robots? Tony said I can introduce them if you’re interested.”

“Introduce me to the dining room instead, Steven. I’ve brought my famous apple pie that you certainly have to try,” she answers with a warm smile.

Mrs. Riley hasn’t only brought an apple pie, but brownies, a red velvet cake, and banana cupcakes as well. It brings everyone out of their rooms and nests, even the introverted ones like Doctor Yinsen or the paranoid ones like James. Though admittedly, James stays out of sight, lurking in the corners and hiding in the shadows, but he’s there, and he accepts a plate full of sweets when the Captain brings it to him. The residents chat and laugh together, and Mrs. Riley acts like the landlady of a party, making sure everyone is well-fed  and everyone feels included in the conversations. Captain Rogers and Airman First Class Riley take turns to beam at her side proudly.

***

Mrs. Riley and her son stay only for the afternoon. Captain Rogers talks about Airman First Class Riley’s discharge to Sir, who involves Colonel Rhodes and Miss Potts.

Thirteen days later Airman First Class Dominic Riley is honorably discharged from the military.

Airman First Class Sam Wilson calls Captain Rogers the same day.

“I hate you, Cap,” he says. “But thanks. I know you did it, and Riley deserves the break if that’s what he wants.”

“You’re very welcome, though I’m not the one to say thanks,” Captain Rogers says to the phone. “And feel free to hate me, but why are you doing that exactly?”

“Ugh, my new partner’s a pain in the ass, but they say I can’t fly alone.”

“They say damn right, everyone needs a partner,” Captain Rogers smiles. “Bring him over to introduce sometime.”

“Nah, I’m not in a hurry. I’ll see if he fits first. Anyway, we’re on a really tight schedule now that he has to learn everything.”

“So I’ve heard from Colonel Rhodes. But the invitation stands, whenever you have the time to drop by, you’re always welcome, Sam.”

“I’m not officially an Avenger. The Army made that very clear.”

“Well, unofficially you are, so keep that in mind.”

“I will. Thanks again, Cap.”

***

“So, uhm, what’s the deal with your name?” Dr. Banner asks James the second time he joins the movie nights he himself, Captain Rogers and Sir regularly participate in, occasionally accompanied by others like the Agents, Miss Potts or Dr. Yinsen. “Which one do you prefer?”

James stares at the doctor in disbelief. It’s the first time he’s ever addressed James directly.

“What do you mean?”

“Steve calls you Bucky, but Tony calls you James,” Doctor Banner shares his observation and ducks his head. “I was just… curious, which one do you actually prefer. Or if there’s another name for us to use.”

“It’s very thoughtful of you, Doctor,” Captain Rogers smiles, and nudges James with his feet which is currently tucked under James’s thighs. “What do you say?”

James takes his time to think through his answer. “Actually,” he clears his throat, swallows, and looks away. “I’ve been James for the last two years, y’know. Most of the people know me by that,” he says, averting his gaze especially from Captain Rogers, who schools his expression as best as he can. Jarvis knows by his readings that he gets agitated by the answer, though. “But now that Steve’s back, I’m okay with Bucky as well,” James continues. “Feel free to pick. I’ll even listen to Barnes, I guess…”

Captain Rogers moves closer and puts a reassuring hand on James’s shoulder, but Jarvis highly suspects it’s more needed to him than to James.

“I’m okay with anything.” James stops as a thought occurs to him. “As long as you don’t try to call me the Asset, or something,” he adds quickly.

“In which case rest in peace, if you can,” Sir finishes the sentence, and he doesn’t even look up from the tablet. “I don’t know which one of us would be the first to get the poor motherfucker who calls him that, but he’d be done for a lifetime and more.”

“But, you know,” James speaks up again, this time sounding thoughtful. “I’m starting to be reconciled with being called the Winter Soldier again.”

Sir shivers. “I’d rather not.”

The Captain just shakes his head. “Me neither.”

“Bucky is fine by me, then,” Doctor Banner says, and smiles at James. “If you really don’t mind.”

James looks at the other two for confirmation, but then takes a deep breath, and stares at Doctor Banner until their eyes meet. James nods. “I’ll let you know if I mind,” he promises.

Captain Rogers squeezes his hand and Sir smiles proudly.

***

The Avengers get medals for their service and bravery.

At least, that’s what the government and the military plan to happen.

They don’t know about Barnes and though they mention the mystery sniper in passing, Sir convinces them that none of the Avengers know anything about the one that provided the help, haven’t met him, haven’t heard of him since.

Dominic Riley, Sam Wilson, and James Rhodes weren’t allowed by the Army to join the fight, therefore they officially weren’t there at all. Captain Rogers, upon hearing this, stands up to fight for their recognition, but Colonel Rhodes and Sir stop him as soon as they realize his intentions. “It’s the best outcome, really, Steve,” Colonel Rhodes says.

“If they acknowledge they were there, they have to punish them for abandoning their designated posts, not giving them medals,” Sir adds. “The system can be a bitch, but this fight would be truly pointless.”

(“Besides, we weren’t there to get some back pats from the higher officers,” Airman First Class Wilson adds later, borderline offended by the idea.)

Thor refuses any and all kinds of accolades. “It’s my honor and duty to protect the realms as the Odinson and wielder of Mjölnir,” he booms. “My brother brought this sorrow upon you, I ought to stop him, and accepting anything in return would bring dishonor on my name.”

Agent Barton shudders to the mere mention. “I spent most of the time fighting _against_ us,” he says, disgust and self-hatred evident in his voice. “Don’t mock me with this nonsense.”

Agent Romanoff stops the others from arguing or following him when he leaves. “I’ll take care of this, just leave us out from this monkey business,” she smirks, but her expression shows more misery than genuine felicity and she goes after him.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Doctor Banner asks with wide eyes. “I won’t go near them. Thunderbolt’s been wanting to arrest me since… since the Other Guy showed up.”

“We won’t let anyone near you, Brucie bear,” Sir pats his back, and everyone stands behind this statement. James glares especially murderously at the thought of anyone threatening a member of the team. (Jarvis also notes that this actually makes everyone take a careful step back from him.)

Which leaves Sir and Captain Rogers. The latter looks at Sir with pleading eyes.

“No! No no no _no_ , no way, _nope_ ,” Sir pops the ‘p’ at the end of the protest. “I’ve already gotten a medal and that’s more than enough for me. I don’t need another pin to my chest.”

Captain Rogers definitely started to learn some facial expressions from Sir, because he pouts. Sir stomps his foot. “No, I’m not falling for this. Not even for the puppy eyes. Don’t try me, dammit. Pepper, help!”

Miss Potts arrives just in time to the rescue. “Actually, Tony’s right, Steve,” she glances at him apologetically. “PR-wise, him getting the award would most likely backfire, since his reputation is not spotless.”

“But he’s the leader of the team!” Captain Rogers protests.

The remaining Avengers, sensing the trouble, start to dissipate from the room.

“I’m not entirely sure we should be advertising that,” Miss Potts sighs.

Which is obviously a mistake. Captain Rogers was held back from a few fights in the last minutes and it was clearly one too many to back away from this as well. “The hell we aren’t advertising it!” He stands up. “I’m gonna fight _anyone_ who thinks Tony isn’t the best leader this team could ever have!”

“Stand down ya punk,” James growls, “and listen to Pepper when she talks.”

“Who are you with?” Captain Rogers stares at him in disbelief.

“I’m with the one who isn’t _stupid._ ”

“Traitor.”

“I have no problem not telling the press I was the leader,” Tony butts in.

“You still are!” Captain Rogers yells.

“Steve has a better image than anyone else, being the war hero and having the pedestal of dying for the country,” Miss Potts try to reason. “Tony, on the other hand…”

Jarvis has his concerns about Captain Rogers’s mental soundness, and wouldn’t be surprised if steam started coming out of his ears at this point. “I. Won’t. Steal. Tony’s. Merits,” he stresses, punctuating every word carefully.

James steps in front of Captain Rogers. Between him and anyone else. “Calm down before you explode.”

“How can you be so nonchalant, he’s your boyfriend too!”

“My boyfriend is fully capable of protecting his interests but he seems pretty cool with this idea, you’re the one fussing about it!”

“Guys?” Sir says. “You’re cute when you’re defending my honor, just saying.” He gets two almost identically disappointed stares, but his smile doesn’t falter. “Actually, Steve, you agreed to be co-leader of the Avengers. I hope you didn’t forget.”

Captain Rogers’s face crumbles. “But it’s unfair.”

“No, it’s not,” Sir stands up and walks over to the Captain. “Please, do me a favor and save me from an award ceremony that I’d hate if I attended. Please accept a medal in the name of the whole team, acknowledging all of our efforts to keep our fragile little planet safe. Take this hit for us.”

Captain Rogers sighs.

“Well,” his shoulders shag, “if you put it that way…”

Sir’s smile is smug and victorious as he kisses him enthusiastically. “I’m always right, Capsicle.” He pulls James closer with a free hand and gives him a kiss too in the end.

“You wish,” James snorts but returns the kiss.

“I’ll leave you alone,” Miss Potts, the last one in except for the three of them, leaves as well in a hurry.

James, Captain Rogers and Sir burst out in giggles, clinging together.

***

Some of the team assembles on the couch to watch the award ceremony. Dr. Yinsen usually avoids gatherings with more than four people involved, but he decides to sit this out with the others. Agent Barton brings popcorn and Agent Romanoff opens a bottle of vodka from Sir’s stash. Sir is more than happy to let them raid the supplies, and his first move is to grab a handful of popcorn and fill his mouth.

Thor is back at SHIELD, but Doctor Banner joins them, occupying an armchair a few feet apart from the others. Doctor Yinsen sits at one end of the couch, and Sir is on the other, Agent Romanoff next to him, and James condescends to the floor at their feet. Jarvis knows it’s an open display of trust from James, giving a strategic advantage of locations to others, two of them within reaching distance. He doesn’t have any doubts some of the residents notice it as well. Sir’s free hand rubs circles on James’s back, and even Agent Romanoff rests her palm on his metal shoulder, feigning nonchalance while doing so.

Doctor Yinsen and Doctor Banner seem oblivious. They are not thinking as agents and soldiers, after all.

When the live broadcast shows Captain Rogers, Agent Barton whistles in approval. “Man, that’s a lot of fancy color on his uniform,” he says, amused.

Doctor Banner studies the medals in open curiosity. “I thought the Purple Heart is a posthumous award,” he notes.

“Not necessarily,” Sir says. “A combat injury doesn’t have to be fatal to...”

“Technically, he was dead for decades,” Doctor Yinsen points out matter of factly.

“And it would be kind of rude to get it back when he showed up seventy years later with Starbucks in hand,” Agent Romanoff smirks.

James doesn’t say a word, but he clutches to Sir’s thigh with white knuckles, at least until Sir can’t stand it anymore and hisses. James relaxes his grip immediately and grabs a pillow instead. His vitals are concerning. He’s in distress.

“Don’t worry,” Sir whispers directly to James’s ear, though it doesn’t seem like he’s listening at all, eyes glued to the screen.

Agent Romanoff and Sir share a glance, but they don’t comment on it yet. Jarvis doesn’t verbalize his worries either, seeing the distress is noticed. Jarvis monitors James’s eye movements. He isn’t focused on Captain Rogers like the others, but someone among the audience. Jarvis marks the General for further inspection.

The ceremony is nowhere short. The Mayor of New York gives a speech, two different Generals of the Army give speeches,  a historian also gives a speech. The Vice President is present, though he at least says only a few words.

The residents of the mansion share jokes and snicker to avoid boredom. Agent Barton offers a thoughtful parody of General Hale, with whom he and Agent Romanoff apparently have some (not particularly sweet) shared history. At one point Sir mutes the television and lets Agent Romanoff narrate the events, and she does so in a deadpan way that makes even Doctor Banner laughing.

James doesn’t smile once through the color commentary, he remains silent and focused. Captain Rogers doesn’t have the fortune to be in good company, he has to stand through the speeches ramrod straight and without even twitching a little. He behaves like a member of the military should at an award ceremony, his eyes slightly unfocused and his expression schooled, assuming the  a parade’s rest position as everyone expects him.

That is, until the person giving the award steps on the stage.

James’s lips tremble, his skin ashens, and his breath hitches. “No,” he mumbles, his metal fingers tearing through the fabric of the pillow. Sir’s hand stops on his back. “It can’t be. No.”

James shuts his eyes, shivers of terror running through his body. His vitals are more irregular than what Jarvis has encountered for a long time – his breath is spinning into hyperventilation, his heartrate is in a dangerous zone, his body temperature is dropping rapidly.

“Yasha,” Agent Romanoff is kneeling next to James in a second, careful not to touch him, while Sir bends over to whisper in his ear and clutches his shoulder.

“It’s okay, James, you’re safe, you’re home,” he murmurs, but looks into the nearest camera, terrified, asking for help without saying a word. Jarvis wants to provide said help, but he can’t offer any explanation for this phenomenon. He replays the footage again and again, trying to locate anything that would indicate such an acute reaction, layering the footage looking for subliminal triggers, but he finds nothing.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” he says. “The only thing I can say is that James’s reaction started when he first saw Mr. Alexander Pierce on the stage.”

It doesn’t explain anything, especially not the way James hunches himself even more. “Commander,” he says.

Agent Romanoff freezes, and her vitals raise up to concerning levels as well. Agent Barton raises to his feet. Doctor Banner and Yinsen remain on their seats.

Captain Rogers’s speech on the television is completely ignored.

“Why,” James groans. “It can’t be. Steve’s not one of them. He can’t be.” He presses his palms to his temples, rocking himself back and forth as he speaks.

“No,” Agent Romanoff says this time. “You’re mistaken. You must be.”

James’s head snaps up. “You think I could ever be?” he snarls, pointing to the screen. “That is the Commander. And he’s pinning a fucking medal to Steve’s chest right now!”

Noone seems to process this new information the way Jarvis immediately does.

“But… but you were used by HYDRA,” Sir tries to wrap his head around this new discovery.

“Confirm,” James spits the word out.

“James,” Doctor Yinsen says, and his voice is gentle. “That man there is Alexander Pierce.”

Sir and Agent Romanoff and Agent Barton look at each other, horrified, the understanding dawning upon them about the same time as to what this means.

James still has no clue. He shakes his head. “I don’t know his name. To me, he was simply the Commander. My handler. The one who gave the orders. I never asked his name,” his lips tremble again as if he’s close to tears.

“Of course you didn’t,” Sir tries to reassure him in a whisper. “They never let you.”

“Why does he gives an award to Steve? Steve can’t be HYDRA. He didn’t attack us. We could trust him! I trust him!” James practically screams, and even Jarvis can practically feel the inertness that hangs heavy in the room.

Agent Barton sighs. “He’s giving the medal because he’s our boss. Everyone’s boss,” he says softly, ever so quietly.

James shakes his head in defiance.

“James,” Sir lays a hand on his cheek and gently turns his head until their eyes meet. “Alexander Pierce is the Secretary of State.”

Jarvis sees that James instantly understands what this means. The head of the State Department, responsible for foreign affairs. Supervisor of SHIELD, the CIA, and the entirety of the armed forces. Without request, Jarvis already started to dig deeper, redirecting all of his free digital capacity into this task, getting to know everything robotically possible about this man, who seems to be a double agent at best, if James is right.

Jarvis has no doubts about James thinking he’s right.

“The most prominent figure of the US government, not counting the President himself, is a Nazi?” Doctor Banner stares at them in disbelief.

“He was my handler,” James repeats, giving no room for any argument.

Everyone starts to talk simultaneously. Only Sir and James remain silent: the former is lost in thought, analyzing the situation, the latter is still too shaken to actually offer his insight. Not like anyone would listen, at the moment.

“Are you saying—?”

“Did we just—?”

“This would mean—!”

“It can’t be!”

Sir signals and Jarvis sounds a grating whistle.

Agent Romanoff and James actually cover their ears with their palms, the others just fall silent. Sir raises his hand, while Captain Rogers salutes to Alexander Pierce on the screen.

“Lady and gentlemen, this is a problem, and we need a plan,” he announces, then looks at James. “I’m really sorry, honey, but I’m afraid we have to find out about the very details of your past.”

**THE END**

****(this time)** **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... that's it folks! This is the end of this novel. Thank you so much for you, for your ongoing support and patience and encouragement, for being the awesome audience you are. I'm forever grateful and without you, this story wouldn't happen.  
> It was quite a journey, isn't it? Let me know what you think about it - feel free to scream at me, ask questions, point out mistakes that are accidentally left in the text, or whatever you feel fit to tell me!  
> Also, if you want more of me, [my tumblr](http://menatiera.tumblr.com) is always open!  
> Don't forget to give some praise and love to [sapphirae_escapist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphirae_escapist/pseuds/sapphirae_escapist), known as [@cpt-winniethepooh](http://cpt-winniethepooh.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, for being the amazing human being and cheerleader and beta she is; and to [@araydre](http://araydre.tumblr.com/) who is the best artist a writer could ever ask for to collaborate with, and also among the kindest and most supportive people. Thanks to everyone who helped me even once through this fic - you know who you are and you are awesome.


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